Tuesday, February 08, 2005

the power of music

reno's dad was only a door away
and we couldn't ever talk
so in the silence we did what
we could, sometimes

whispering. and in the morning when he
knocked his wife across the room to fall
onto the griddle of incorrect
potatoes we watched the wall, the
window, anywhere but the door

and once, driven out to a ranch
in the middle of the desert,
smoking smuggled cigarettes
let us feel superior and then
he left taking the truck and we joked

over cornflakes and powdered milk
softened with pump-water, hunger
new to me while the radio
hissed hits from the city