wind whistling ’round the house like i played the recorder in grade one
hard, impatient puffs of air forced through old plastic that has known
a hundred uninterested mouths
the television’s rare silence makes me hear my desperation
so coldly played
rattling the old kitchen fan, keeping poor time
as the furnace kicks in with a bassline that doesn’t fit
i’m glad when it clicks off, replaced by frigid gusts in the empty fireplace
maybe sleep can come now
the house soothes me by matching my mood
a furious child,
gelid and hungry,
settles for ailing music

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