She set the metronome ticking,

her children the pendulum, rocking

back and forth from Mother to Father,

Father back to Mother. Then she'd twist

the knob to Father-Mother, Mother-Father,

or call out Allegro! and they'd speed up:

FatherMother, MotherFather, FatherMother.

Her children walked sideways, their eyes

shifted horizontally, they looked dizzy, even

possessed—missing the cars zooming in front

of them, but somehow they always heard

Mother's tempo, and passed from this

lover to that lover, from that lover to this.