The snowmen function as security. The toupees are the signs of civic renewal. Trampled by the tankards and the tunings. Till tomorrow, or till till. The father's soft feet, hinged to the bowlegs.
Birds roost there.
The dead grenade buried inside. The second son is match-play. An unmanned helicopter falls into the parking lot. Fleshy cynicisms excrete the symptoms. The father raps his knuckles on the underside of the ice.