A Rearranged Couple

In the southwest quadrant of the village,
resides a pair as quaint as if they were Smithsonian figures.
His father was an Pentecostal preacher.
Her mother was a chronic gambler.
The pair both hail from Brooklyn, as did their parents,
not far from Coney Island.
In junior year, the two dropped out of high school
after he pregnatized her.

The guy's uncle got him a job on a used car lot.
She was deeply distressed for most of the pregnancy.
The poor thing went bipolar
around the time they moved to the Carolinas
That very same year, she gave birth to twins.
A boy for him,who he named Harvey.
A girl for her,
she named Lorena.

Lorena, so named, in honor of Mrs. Bobbitt,
the Colombian who went bananas on her husband's penis,
who flung the severed appendage out the driver's window.
Do you remember?
It's an American classic,
like Marilyn Monroe,
like Charlie Manson,
like Lee Harvey Oswald.

Let's give our characters fictional names, shall we?
The used car salesman, we'll call Potato Head
because he rides a Harley that goes "potato-potato-potato."
His bipolar wife, we'll rename, Coney
because Coney Island used to be an amusement park.
Potato and Coney, and the terrible twins live by the sea,
where gulls squawk brash over juicy morsels.

The family of four increased by one last week
when Dad moved in another woman.
That other woman now rides the rear seat chariot
as haughty as an Amazon warrior princess going to battle.
Have the threesome converted to Mormon?
'cause polygamy is still very Utah to us in these parts,
but give us a chance, for change begets change,
and change is hard core reality, like it or lump it!

The arrangement of three might yet morph
into Utopian communes of tens, of hundreds
perhaps even thousands, trans gender included,
like the tribal sub nations which once were our Indians.
The great experiment which is our United States.
The unalienable American right to life, liberty
and the pursuit of happiness, no matter to others,
it seem a tad queer.