Background

My father would slam

the door in the face

of anyone trying to sell him something,

but doesn't mind listening

to three consecutive hours

of radio commercials.

Drowning out reality with

buy one get one free

for a limited time only

come on down and call

1-800-pathetic existence.

The TV stays on while he drinks

himself to sleep, his

staggering and stomping

provide a soundtrack for

early morning bathroom trips.

There's a separate grunt for

each of twelve stairs,

a unique groan for every

hangover symptom.

They interrupt the songs of

branches that sway in

the dawn of summer's breeze

and wake me in the midst

of dreaming about silence.