A Rhetorical Question

Sometimes, I wonder why we subject ourselves
To mountain air and seaside cottages,
To little worlds where the temperature of our tea
Or the grains of sand in our socks are the most daunting
Thoughts vacationing in our minds.

Why we buy waffle cones and cracked crab
When we know they will all be gone
In a matter of delirious moments,
Wrappers and remnants lost in green garbage cans.

I wonder why we let ourselves stray to places
Where sea-blown boys with blue eyes and soft clothes
Wait for city girls with tired faces and nowhere to go,

Why we look into their eyes
And listen to their summer-sick words,
Waiting for winter to come and wash away the
Feel of their lips on our skin.

Why we torture ourselves with the promise of stars,
When the sun wipes them away
Morning after morning.

I wonder why we bother to hope when test tubes and holy books
Have proven us wrong time and time again,

Why we still hope when mothers’ words turn sour,
When fathers look back the other way,

When that familiar childhood lullaby plays itself into nothingness.