To Relive or to Remember

There was a vacant bathroom outside the church park. 
I crawl in beat, destitute, feeding off the radiant waves. 
I stare into a warped mirror punched by drunken twilight boys, 
facing the woman who would love me despite every fallacy. 
And as I listen to the daughters outside swinging, blissfully 
exuberant in their youth, with their exhausted mothers,
I feel the empathy of their anguish rising in the hellish heat, 
haloing like the buzzing flies hovering over the grainy sink.

I realize those daughters will soon be beckoned by rebellion, 
and in turn, their mothers will see their occupied shadows, 
their deformed, holy, musty park bathroom reflections hanging 
by the predestined noose of choice: to relive or to remember.