The Kids' Table

Is the first to go.
Bedtimes grow later and later
And then we show up at different times.
We are given to-go boxes even though we don't really want to go
But we do anyway, smiling our superficial smiles.

Then we put on our fancy dresses and suits
To prove a point to no one but ourselves,
Sit in the car
Alone in the driveway.

We try to one-up each other
With fancy brands
And makeup.

We no longer wear Velcro shoes
And drink from sippy cups
Because they're not in fashion.

We lie silently
As the noise grows louder
And towels begin to hold wetness for longer
And we have more room than we know what to do with.

There is a fork in the road.
We all go our separate ways,
Gravel crunching underneath our tires,
Sky fading to black,
The streetlights flicker.
I flicker back.