June Cleaver and the Soccer Moms Release Their First Single

No one heard us sing
so now we fly.

We drift through suburbia
flaunt our floating (it’s all we’ve got)
in front of the birds.

Why not?
The beautiful and drab sparrows
eat our food
dirty our walks
defy daily our call to silence.

We hold our babies to our breasts
hold our breasts
for better viewing
former rosebuds
now drying blooms
in our hands.

We fly
and boast
and dream
of being held like this
baby or breast
coddled
cradled
caressed
caught in an updraft
or cosseted in cotton.

Winged
wanton
we drift without cords.
Chordless,
we are a silent song.

So long
as we flock together
someone is bound to hear.

*******************************************************************************

Inspired, in part, by Rick Mobbs' gorgeous painting and this week's prompt at Read. Write. Poem.

Not to mention my obsession with June Cleaver.