Nostalgia for a Time That Never Was

Nostalgia for a Time That Never Was

Missing children used to appear on the side 
Of milk cartons tipped towards bowls 
Of sugary cereal by children yet to go missing. 
Men in bib overalls used to stand outside 
Service stations inherited from their fathers-
In-law, spit between their boots and say,
“Well I wouldn’t say it is and I wouldn’t say 
It isn’t.” Housewives used to snort
Bumps of cocaine in the bathroom to try 
And outdazzle one another at table.
Bank bosses used to tell their secretaries
To say they weren’t taking any calls, close
The door, and shoot themselves, but not
Before fanning the evidence out on the desk 
To make it easier for the young investigator
Who, they thought, looked like one
Of their sons, had they lived long enough
To see them grow up to become men. 
Those were the days you could drive anywhere
To anywhere without stopping to fill up, 
When the coke was never cut with fentanyl,
When the kids who disappeared 
Were never your kids because they were 
Sitting at the table, spooning cocaine-
Colored sugar into their cereal, 
While their mothers drank the last
Of the liquor the guests left in their glasses
And their fathers stood in mirrors upstairs,
Trying to tie a tie with trembling hands.