A morning like any other,
a brilliant sun illuminating
blue dahlias on a breakfast table;
mom flips buttermilk pancakes,
and kids squabble over who
gets the maple syrup first.
Outside a picture window
dancing trilliums
and white-petaled daisies
bend under a Dovkie Wren.

But on “Good Morning America,”
the curtain descends
on domestic tranquility.
A father’s face is nothing
but the irrevocable pain
of being self- crucified;
once drenched in tears, now
as dry as a sea of sand dunes.
A momentous silence
occludes his dying soul.

Sun will never rise again
for this father who signed
away his daughter’s life,
for a thrilling free-fall
on an amusement park’s
demonic contraption, run
by ruddy-faced roustabouts
who released the girl
to fall 100 feet
before they got the net in place.

Father reported he heard a thump
and knew his daughter was dead.
His lawyer, a Mako, who swims
in predatory waters
sat silently, day-dreaming
about upgrading his yacht.
He hasn’t scored a slam-dunk
like this since a homeowner
backed out of his driveway
ending the life of his neighbor’s kid.