Dusk bleeds into the lateness of the day.
Fireflies wobble through the scent of damp grass.
The windows are open.
The neighbors are having it out again.
Yelling louder won't fix the problem.
Profanity and oaths,
a teenage boy splutters ignorant rage
with words he has learned from his father,
a man stabbed with words he has himself honed.
another toddling boy learns, rehearses the rage.
Hard words, hard heads,
a hard patch of ground to stumble on.
He is a generous, honest man
who has no idea how to talk to his kids,
so he yells instead.
I want to help, but how?
In the morning we go to work.
We go about our lives
knowing that across the street
is a house of bitterness.
I have lived in such a house,
hiding in the dark bed,
under a blanket of fear and sadness.
The fury of Pa and brother battling
seeps through the screens.
Raccoon parent and child
work side by side in the family business.
The trash can crashes, a dog barks.
I'm afraid,
but the scariest monsters aren't under the bed.
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