I never lived where screaming arguments drowned out music, where things of glass were thrown, or doors slammed, fists swung or tears turned into wails a lot of people tell me they had some kind of madness at home I guess I was lucky growing up in a place not too different from a lazy Sunday morning, far from any drunken Saturday night

the leather tavern, down around the corner, next to the hardware store has nice Sunday afternoon crowd I know because as I drive by the door opens and the music rushes out and boxes my ears an establishment where greetings start with a shout, followed by the staccato pieces of bellowed words and then there’re the drunks, the ones that everyone clearly understands, holding court with a couple laughing heads a bar’s intentional volume, poor lighting and alcohol is aimed

I hear my mouth say maybe much more than it used to, with perhaps a more hopeful, thoughtful maybe to the listener both are pronounced with a hedge towards commitment – holiday party, wedding invite, day trip, visit to family all part of my new occasional life, preferring not to dress up, go out and publicly engage in most social situations apparently, I prefer to sit here stare out the window and let my pen live the life I used to