Two rooms away

Enough to muffle, never enough to silence

The tone carries through; Frost’s sound of sense

But snarled, sharpened, and lacerating

 

Frustration meeting rage, puberty facing age

Mother versus father, father versus son

Never me, though. I only listen

I can’t drown out that rhythm of venom, that cadence of wrath

 

Slammed door, sarcastic greeting, drunken retort,

nasty reply, escalating insult, menacing pause,

and before ten minutes are out they’ve found eachother’s throats,

my hands have found my ears and my tears, my eyes.

Nobody knows you like your family.

 

I get it.  I understand the sides, the reasons, the tactics,

And the agonizing, fundamental, waste of it.

There’s no point to this battle; no growth, no change.

No speeches or screeches or infuriating “SO”

Can mend what’s broken in them, in us.

 

Tonight could be different.  I could march in there.

I could tell them where they’re wrong and right and wrong-est.

But they’d see it as another army on the field.

So why join a war with no winners?

How do you pick a side when you love both and hate the fucking fight?

 

And so I listen to the people I love most in this world rip into one another,

Their barbs and shouts and pronouncements muddled and blurred by wood and drywall.

Biting back tears and words both

Two rooms away.