Free Lollipops, Really?

The children are
ransacking the restaurant again.

The four year old on one end by the doors
food-finger-paints the window panes
(and flips the light switches)
no one attempts to reign him in
he’s in ecstasy
the whole restaurant
goes in and out of the dark.

At the other end of the room,
near the kitchen
at the corner roundtable – the adults
masticate
paying no mind to
stop the up and down yo-yoing
of their little ones whose flashlights
strobe in and out of diner’s eyes.

Sponge Bob blares
from the ceilings obligatory T.V.
the juke box
and the radio give the back beat.

The mothers sit, dressed for their outing,
styling in three inch stiletto boots,
sipping cabernet from funnel shaped glasses
posed on lace paper dollies;
attempting alcoholic oblivion.

Fathers get their buzz-on
from pitchers of cheap golden beer.
And, ah, the pizza pick-up area
arcade games of racecars,
where captain’s chairs
give wee ones height, to whiz –
gun engines and roar,
aided by the sugar high
from free lollipops.

One could say, they owned the place,
and they wouldn’t be wrong.