Lake Erie

My Mom and Dad riding bikes by the lake,
my brother and I perched on the backs.
It never happened. I don’t recall.
I’ve got the pictures, that’s all,
in the photo album, gory and stained.
It looks so tired today, the rain.
It doesn’t want to fall.
The sun stayed home in bed.
The Rainbow shot itself in the head.
It bled all over the horizon.
We rode our bikes by Lake Erie
and it was never on fire.
Randy Newman wrote that song.
Lake Erie burns on and on.