People seem to like epiphanies.

EPIPHANIES

I walked out to the back acre
Where the hawthorn climbed shyly over the sagging fence
Like a little girl at a birthday party
I looked off to the east
At the darkening clouds
And realized
Why my mother was never home on Sunday

I walked out into the anxious city
Where used Toyotas honked at sad-eyed drunks
Like a goat that needed milking
I looked up at the tall buildings
With their winking neon
And realized
Why my father always kept his desk locked

I walked out on the open farmland
Where the young green corn rustled in the wind
Like a truck with a stalled motor
I looked down at my threadbare jeans
And saw my fly was open
And realized
Why the farmer’s kids were laughing

I don’t know what to do with these epiphanies
Perhaps I’ll try to market them at Tiffany’s