That loud crap blares
from speakers large and small.
Can’t understand the words –
just dull thuds, synthetic sounds,
style of dress I’d almost laugh at.
Almost. “Deviant,” then in my mind, “thugs;”
no fun being scared of everyone younger.
I remember how my wife’s family
talked about me before she was my wife.
Nat King Cole and Sinatra played all too clear.
Too much vinegar on the salad.
One dinner I stared at a candle
flickering on the table.
The room had more than enough light.
In discrete moments the flame struggled.
My wife remembers the slight smirk I wore,
bright in its own way.