(Inspired by) Sound

Sounds in my house are doors closing,
Mom shushing, and dad’s low brooding
Drowning out the red robins
Who haven’t stopped singing
Outside my bedroom window
I hold my breath through dad’s rests,
Those cross-haired comas before
Trumpeted blows squeeze out of clinched fists

I hear the beats.
I hear the beats.

These musical measures slide impossibly
From low to high
Like some sort of sick roller coaster
Careening over greased bars.

Mom says,”Blow your nose.  Dont’ cry.”
I keep draining and then I’m gone.

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