36,500 Words.
Saturday, January 29, 2005
100 Words About Tonight.
My pasta with eggplant-tomato sauce went over pretty well tonight,
That was kind of surprising.
When we watched "Princess Diaries 2," even Sammy paid attention,
That was quite surprising too.
Kids were hyper and happy, no big fights, no whammies,
Like a big old miracle.
Yeah everything is a big crazy muddy mess now,
Much indecision fills the air;
Yeah we have no damned money, where's that writing career
I was going to have?;
Yeah we live in a quotidian whirlwind, yeah it's chaos,
Yeah it rocks real hard.
Keep dancing, Cibula, keep smiling, all the happy geniuses do
That was kind of surprising.
When we watched "Princess Diaries 2," even Sammy paid attention,
That was quite surprising too.
Kids were hyper and happy, no big fights, no whammies,
Like a big old miracle.
Yeah everything is a big crazy muddy mess now,
Much indecision fills the air;
Yeah we have no damned money, where's that writing career
I was going to have?;
Yeah we live in a quotidian whirlwind, yeah it's chaos,
Yeah it rocks real hard.
Keep dancing, Cibula, keep smiling, all the happy geniuses do
100 Words About 'The Moonstone'. (I'm only on page 118.)
O you adorable little scary gossip-riddled mansion in the country!
O you spooky prologue full of murder and cursed diamonds!
O you hilarious unreliable narrator, old senior steward Gabriel Betteredge,
who loves only naps, tobacco, Robinson Crusoe, and plump wenches!
O you sad tragic suspicious deformed ex-thief servant Rosanna Spearman!
O the young lady, Miss Rachel, forced to choose between
sexy layabout cousin Franklin Blake and gallant reformer Godfrey Ablewhite!
O the yellow diamond, "the Moonstone," is stolen...or was it?
O hard-edged melancholy Sergeant Cuff, so casually unravelling it all!
O the casual racism!
O what else is in store?
O you spooky prologue full of murder and cursed diamonds!
O you hilarious unreliable narrator, old senior steward Gabriel Betteredge,
who loves only naps, tobacco, Robinson Crusoe, and plump wenches!
O you sad tragic suspicious deformed ex-thief servant Rosanna Spearman!
O the young lady, Miss Rachel, forced to choose between
sexy layabout cousin Franklin Blake and gallant reformer Godfrey Ablewhite!
O the yellow diamond, "the Moonstone," is stolen...or was it?
O hard-edged melancholy Sergeant Cuff, so casually unravelling it all!
O the casual racism!
O what else is in store?
Thursday, January 27, 2005
100 Words About the Dark.
it doesn't exist here in winter, we're too far up,
the sky gets all weird, purple and pinkish at night
that's okay, the last thing I need is more darkness,
I've always been a little afraid of the damn dark
whether or not this is the dark outside, the other,
or the dark inside myself, I don't know or care
I turn on all the lights, punch that remote control,
keep the vampires and werewolves and snakes and robbers away
how quickly we return to our past selves at night,
shivering under the covers, oh god, WHAT WAS THAT NOISE
the sky gets all weird, purple and pinkish at night
that's okay, the last thing I need is more darkness,
I've always been a little afraid of the damn dark
whether or not this is the dark outside, the other,
or the dark inside myself, I don't know or care
I turn on all the lights, punch that remote control,
keep the vampires and werewolves and snakes and robbers away
how quickly we return to our past selves at night,
shivering under the covers, oh god, WHAT WAS THAT NOISE
Wednesday, January 26, 2005
100 Words About Mountain Dew.
O sacred liquid of my teenage years!
Dave's brother drank you so we drank you too,
Absorbing your caffeine instead of beers;
We substituted drunkenness for you.
Green cans, green plastic bottles large and small
Lay piled up in the corners of our rooms,
Along with pizza boxes, wall to wall,
Porn mags and comic books: a kind of tomb.
You soundtracked all our 3 a.m. guffaws,
Inspired the biggest belches ever heard;
There wasn't a spazz-out you couldn't cause.
Your last name was our only holy word.
Oh, hell, my word limit is up. Anyway, you get the idea.
Dave's brother drank you so we drank you too,
Absorbing your caffeine instead of beers;
We substituted drunkenness for you.
Green cans, green plastic bottles large and small
Lay piled up in the corners of our rooms,
Along with pizza boxes, wall to wall,
Porn mags and comic books: a kind of tomb.
You soundtracked all our 3 a.m. guffaws,
Inspired the biggest belches ever heard;
There wasn't a spazz-out you couldn't cause.
Your last name was our only holy word.
Oh, hell, my word limit is up. Anyway, you get the idea.
Tuesday, January 25, 2005
100 Words About Building a Castle.
Sammy is distracted; he always is, he is only six.
He keeps opening up plastic packages, taking out plastic parts,
throwing them back down to play with the pirate guys
(who are kind of awesome) that came in the package.
So it's me putting the castle together, that's my job,
while also trying to watch the Badgers play Illinois and
watching Lori and Bolo get booted off "The Amazing Race."
We're missing the catapult parts, the flags are stickered wrong,
stuff falling off the bed, "where's the green thing?"...
but Sammy and I are happy in our own boy way.
He keeps opening up plastic packages, taking out plastic parts,
throwing them back down to play with the pirate guys
(who are kind of awesome) that came in the package.
So it's me putting the castle together, that's my job,
while also trying to watch the Badgers play Illinois and
watching Lori and Bolo get booted off "The Amazing Race."
We're missing the catapult parts, the flags are stickered wrong,
stuff falling off the bed, "where's the green thing?"...
but Sammy and I are happy in our own boy way.
Monday, January 24, 2005
100 Words About Soup.
It's America's dream of itself:
all the far-flung ingredients in the world,
coming together in harmony,
flavors rubbing against other flavors,
resulting in the best god damn broth in history.
It's also like jazz, creation and improvisation;
it's also like math, every recipe a proof to be tested;
it's like crying, slowly, into the pot;
it's like slow dancing in junior high;
it's like the first time you realized you could see infinity;
it's like everything you ever dreamed about.
Or maybe it's just soup.
Maybe there's one perfect thing and it is allowed to simply be itself for once.
all the far-flung ingredients in the world,
coming together in harmony,
flavors rubbing against other flavors,
resulting in the best god damn broth in history.
It's also like jazz, creation and improvisation;
it's also like math, every recipe a proof to be tested;
it's like crying, slowly, into the pot;
it's like slow dancing in junior high;
it's like the first time you realized you could see infinity;
it's like everything you ever dreamed about.
Or maybe it's just soup.
Maybe there's one perfect thing and it is allowed to simply be itself for once.
Sunday, January 23, 2005
100 Words About the Ride Home.
Freshman year, so it was 1981. Track practice over, needed a ride home; somehow, the stoner dudes who lived across the street were impressed that I could actually run and offered me a ride home.
As soon as we got into Jeff's car, they cranked loud-ass metal. And as soon as we pulled out of the parking lot, they lit up and started passing it around. It came over to me, I said, "Uh, no thanks, I already had some before." They were nice enough not to laugh in my face.
So for that, Jeff, Kieth, Jim, I thank you.
As soon as we got into Jeff's car, they cranked loud-ass metal. And as soon as we pulled out of the parking lot, they lit up and started passing it around. It came over to me, I said, "Uh, no thanks, I already had some before." They were nice enough not to laugh in my face.
So for that, Jeff, Kieth, Jim, I thank you.
Friday, January 21, 2005
100 Words About The Game Of Life.
The whole family played last night instead of going out
into the frozen white world, snow bombing all around us.
My wife chose a pink peg when she got married,
invented a whole backstory (she and "Sheila" met at Smith);
this made me feel weird, but a little turned-on too.
So I figure the little blue peg dad car guy,
whipping around green bridge turns at a furious plastic rate,
often has to turn around to reprimand his peg kids,
"You better not get ice cream on those plastic seats,
I'm up here trying to pay off these promissory notes!"
into the frozen white world, snow bombing all around us.
My wife chose a pink peg when she got married,
invented a whole backstory (she and "Sheila" met at Smith);
this made me feel weird, but a little turned-on too.
So I figure the little blue peg dad car guy,
whipping around green bridge turns at a furious plastic rate,
often has to turn around to reprimand his peg kids,
"You better not get ice cream on those plastic seats,
I'm up here trying to pay off these promissory notes!"
Thursday, January 20, 2005
100 Words About Graceland.
The first time, I was alone. I was in Memphis
to work with kids in a private girls' school there,
I had a free Sunday, drove my rental car there.
It's easier alone, you can concentrate on the headphone spiel,
marvel at all that green shag carpet, the lost opportunities.
Later, we went as a family, drove down there together,
it was not the same. I liked seeing my wife,
who wrote her thesis at Harvard on Elvis Presley iconography,
and the way her eyes got wide, a dream fulfilled.
But the kids just whined. Actually, I don't blame them.
to work with kids in a private girls' school there,
I had a free Sunday, drove my rental car there.
It's easier alone, you can concentrate on the headphone spiel,
marvel at all that green shag carpet, the lost opportunities.
Later, we went as a family, drove down there together,
it was not the same. I liked seeing my wife,
who wrote her thesis at Harvard on Elvis Presley iconography,
and the way her eyes got wide, a dream fulfilled.
But the kids just whined. Actually, I don't blame them.
Tuesday, January 18, 2005
100 Words, Disjointed.
Sweet rock fruit, textured like dolphin skin, no music on,
it's a gift, take it, don't see that every day
Storm rages outside, well a storm can rage inside too,
teach me what you know, I am hungrier than you
Shadows fall because no one ever propped them up before,
come on genius, what other cold explanation can there be
Sand is made of salt, glass is made of sand,
look in the mirror, multiply yourself, look at you all
Somewhere someone is listening to "Wichita Lineman" and is crying,
no wait hold on a minute that someone is me.
it's a gift, take it, don't see that every day
Storm rages outside, well a storm can rage inside too,
teach me what you know, I am hungrier than you
Shadows fall because no one ever propped them up before,
come on genius, what other cold explanation can there be
Sand is made of salt, glass is made of sand,
look in the mirror, multiply yourself, look at you all
Somewhere someone is listening to "Wichita Lineman" and is crying,
no wait hold on a minute that someone is me.
Sunday, January 16, 2005
100 Words About Truth or Dare.
first off let me say this game is my life
or rather that my life has turned into this game
on some kind of artsy metaphorical level I don't understand
it was so easy in junior high down at marie's,
pick "truth" a few times, that's just the warmup
eventually it comes down to dare, we all stare wide-eyed
two pair off, go away, come back red-faced, taller somehow
when it was my turn I got beautiful tough stacey
first time I ever tasted someone else's tongue, like strawberries
now it's more like this: dare I tell the truth
or rather that my life has turned into this game
on some kind of artsy metaphorical level I don't understand
it was so easy in junior high down at marie's,
pick "truth" a few times, that's just the warmup
eventually it comes down to dare, we all stare wide-eyed
two pair off, go away, come back red-faced, taller somehow
when it was my turn I got beautiful tough stacey
first time I ever tasted someone else's tongue, like strawberries
now it's more like this: dare I tell the truth
100 Words About This Wound.
It's all puffed up and weird-looking
What is up with this thing
Serves me right for trying to carry
the microwave in from the garage
all by myself without having
moved the stuff behind the door first,
I pushed it, it snapped back,
punched a hole in my knuckle
I didn't notice it until
we were eating: I saw red
running down my hand, but figured
it was the Thai chili sauce
So I waited, now it's gross
My flesh is all corrupted
Better get the Bacitracin
Better get a Harry Potter purple Band-Aid
Better try to save myself now
What is up with this thing
Serves me right for trying to carry
the microwave in from the garage
all by myself without having
moved the stuff behind the door first,
I pushed it, it snapped back,
punched a hole in my knuckle
I didn't notice it until
we were eating: I saw red
running down my hand, but figured
it was the Thai chili sauce
So I waited, now it's gross
My flesh is all corrupted
Better get the Bacitracin
Better get a Harry Potter purple Band-Aid
Better try to save myself now
Saturday, January 15, 2005
100 Words About Special Features.
You are god damn right I watch the special features:
deleted scenes, bloopers, featurettes, trailers, every commentary track I can;
I stay up late searching the internet for easter eggs;
It's like a treasure map, late at night, remote control;
I want there to be no warm stone left unturned.
Because I want to know how it all comes together,
I want to see glistening golden guts beneath the skin,
all the greasy rusty machinery, all the secret arcane stories,
even when it's stupid, even when it's worthless, even then.
I'm not the most fun person to watch/experience movies/life with.
deleted scenes, bloopers, featurettes, trailers, every commentary track I can;
I stay up late searching the internet for easter eggs;
It's like a treasure map, late at night, remote control;
I want there to be no warm stone left unturned.
Because I want to know how it all comes together,
I want to see glistening golden guts beneath the skin,
all the greasy rusty machinery, all the secret arcane stories,
even when it's stupid, even when it's worthless, even then.
I'm not the most fun person to watch/experience movies/life with.
Thursday, January 13, 2005
100 Words About Whiskey in the Jar.
Not the old Irish folk song
Not the Thin Lizzy version of the Irish folk song
Actual real whiskey, which I hardly ever drink but I decided to because my brother left a bottle of Kessler here at my house
So I poured a bit into one of our mason-jar drinking glasses and then poured some flat Coke into that and drank it
Except now I'm a little buzzed because I kinda got the proportions wrong
(or right, maybe).
Whiskey, we have never exactly been friends
In fact you've been a right bastard sometimes
But tonight I love you, okay?
Not the Thin Lizzy version of the Irish folk song
Actual real whiskey, which I hardly ever drink but I decided to because my brother left a bottle of Kessler here at my house
So I poured a bit into one of our mason-jar drinking glasses and then poured some flat Coke into that and drank it
Except now I'm a little buzzed because I kinda got the proportions wrong
(or right, maybe).
Whiskey, we have never exactly been friends
In fact you've been a right bastard sometimes
But tonight I love you, okay?
100 Words About Being Behind.
"The sooner you fall behind, the more time you have
to catch up," so quoth my college roommate Scott R-------.
[This was not his only witty aphorism: he also spray-painted
"It ain't pretty being EZ" on a sheet, which we
hung out our dorm window for half our freshman year.]
There is a certain louche logic to this timetable slough,
and I've done my best to live up to it.
After all, as they said, "God should have just slacked
off for six days then pulled a wicked huge all-nighter."
But look around: isn't it obvious that's what He did?
to catch up," so quoth my college roommate Scott R-------.
[This was not his only witty aphorism: he also spray-painted
"It ain't pretty being EZ" on a sheet, which we
hung out our dorm window for half our freshman year.]
There is a certain louche logic to this timetable slough,
and I've done my best to live up to it.
After all, as they said, "God should have just slacked
off for six days then pulled a wicked huge all-nighter."
But look around: isn't it obvious that's what He did?
Tuesday, January 11, 2005
100 Words About Insomnia.
Its not that I cant sleep I just refuse to
Dont you see its a trap set down by God
When we sleep we dream and those dreams are toxic
Give us all kinds of ideas about better beautifuller worlds
Cant stand that one where Im flying and we kiss
And the world explodes into some purple passion flower surprise
Man bump that all due respect but yo no way
Rather live here in my grey life which never lies
Dont get suckered by your own arrogant painterly subconscious
It will let you dream all night if you let it
Dont you see its a trap set down by God
When we sleep we dream and those dreams are toxic
Give us all kinds of ideas about better beautifuller worlds
Cant stand that one where Im flying and we kiss
And the world explodes into some purple passion flower surprise
Man bump that all due respect but yo no way
Rather live here in my grey life which never lies
Dont get suckered by your own arrogant painterly subconscious
It will let you dream all night if you let it
Monday, January 10, 2005
100 Words About the Way Things Are.
Things go like quick cat's yawn, like the taste of Pez candies,
first they're here, then they're gone, that's it, that's the way things go.
Things remain on the agenda, waiting their turn,
sad-eyed and curious, desperate, taking the tragic view, that's how things remain.
Things couldn't be any different from what they are, we just say 'em differently,
throw in a new word or two and call it macaroni, that's what one does with things.
Things turn into metaphors when they're really just things, and that sucks.
Although it sucks, I go with it, that's the way things are.
first they're here, then they're gone, that's it, that's the way things go.
Things remain on the agenda, waiting their turn,
sad-eyed and curious, desperate, taking the tragic view, that's how things remain.
Things couldn't be any different from what they are, we just say 'em differently,
throw in a new word or two and call it macaroni, that's what one does with things.
Things turn into metaphors when they're really just things, and that sucks.
Although it sucks, I go with it, that's the way things are.
Sunday, January 09, 2005
100 Words About Horror Movies.
Well, they're sexy, let's just deal with that first off.
I have no idea why; it doesn't make any sense.
Okay, it makes perfect sense: the actors are always beautiful.
Plus couples get to cling to each other in fear.
In high school, this was date material: I'll protect you.
But there's something else going on here: the delicious anticipation.
What lurks around the corner, what threat waits for us?
It is all very much like what a relationship is.
Don't split up! we yell at the doomed idiot teenagers.
Now we know the truth: It finds us all anyway.
I have no idea why; it doesn't make any sense.
Okay, it makes perfect sense: the actors are always beautiful.
Plus couples get to cling to each other in fear.
In high school, this was date material: I'll protect you.
But there's something else going on here: the delicious anticipation.
What lurks around the corner, what threat waits for us?
It is all very much like what a relationship is.
Don't split up! we yell at the doomed idiot teenagers.
Now we know the truth: It finds us all anyway.
100 Words About My Wild Slovak Soul.
A package from Prague, from Premyl, who runs a label;
he wants me to review some of their new albums.
The music is wacky, wild, weird, wonderful in its world-view;
Romany music mixed with punk, rock, funk, Arabic, jazz, hip-hop.
I love it like a long-lost brother, like learning language;
It speaks to my inner gypsy, my wild Slovak soul.
If John Cibula, a century ago, hadn't escaped from Europe,
with only his bass fiddle packed with money he'd earned
playing in a "gypsy orchestra" (so the family story goes),
this music would soundtrack my wild Slovak alternate life! Hyje!
he wants me to review some of their new albums.
The music is wacky, wild, weird, wonderful in its world-view;
Romany music mixed with punk, rock, funk, Arabic, jazz, hip-hop.
I love it like a long-lost brother, like learning language;
It speaks to my inner gypsy, my wild Slovak soul.
If John Cibula, a century ago, hadn't escaped from Europe,
with only his bass fiddle packed with money he'd earned
playing in a "gypsy orchestra" (so the family story goes),
this music would soundtrack my wild Slovak alternate life! Hyje!
Friday, January 07, 2005
100 Words About Dinner.
First, pour a glass of whatever wine we have left.
This is not for cooking but for lubricating the cook.
Next, pick appropriate tunes; tonight, since we are making rice,
we will be listening to Yolanda Perez, Aqui Me Tienes.
Next, chop up one onion and two big cloves of garlic.
Sautee these in olive oil, add chili powder, salt, pepper,
oregano, basil, more salt, cumin, turmeric, a hint of cinnamon.
Chop up some mushrooms. Add a can of black beans.
Then arborio rice, stir around to coat it really well.
Water covers all. Stir. Drink wine. Dance. Adjust. Later, eat.
This is not for cooking but for lubricating the cook.
Next, pick appropriate tunes; tonight, since we are making rice,
we will be listening to Yolanda Perez, Aqui Me Tienes.
Next, chop up one onion and two big cloves of garlic.
Sautee these in olive oil, add chili powder, salt, pepper,
oregano, basil, more salt, cumin, turmeric, a hint of cinnamon.
Chop up some mushrooms. Add a can of black beans.
Then arborio rice, stir around to coat it really well.
Water covers all. Stir. Drink wine. Dance. Adjust. Later, eat.
Wednesday, January 05, 2005
100 Words About Dictionaries.
"The vocabulary is great but there's not much to the plot" ha ha corny old joke/
It's actually the other way around innit/
Words when united shimmy and shake but alone they just sit there waiting to dance/
But I can conjure a plot out of reference books that'd make Harold Bloom shit a brick/
Me, as a kid, alone with dictionaries and rhyming dictionaries and thesauri/
Constructing worlds out of pure word association/
Begetting hundreds and thousands of stories out of thin paper/
Nothing sadder or more wonderful than the young abecedarian /
Dammit I want to be him again/
It's actually the other way around innit/
Words when united shimmy and shake but alone they just sit there waiting to dance/
But I can conjure a plot out of reference books that'd make Harold Bloom shit a brick/
Me, as a kid, alone with dictionaries and rhyming dictionaries and thesauri/
Constructing worlds out of pure word association/
Begetting hundreds and thousands of stories out of thin paper/
Nothing sadder or more wonderful than the young abecedarian /
Dammit I want to be him again/
100 Words About Hotels.
They are not yr home away from home
They are not yr oasis in the storm except sometimes if it's an actual storm but shut up
They are not yr palace or yr base of operations
They are just a place where you get free cable hopefully
And where you and yr brother and yr brother's work associate
can get messed the hell up on cheap good Wisconsin beer
As the snow falls gently outside all over the parking lot
And yr happy yr brother is in town
And in this hotel all is right in yr world for once
They are not yr oasis in the storm except sometimes if it's an actual storm but shut up
They are not yr palace or yr base of operations
They are just a place where you get free cable hopefully
And where you and yr brother and yr brother's work associate
can get messed the hell up on cheap good Wisconsin beer
As the snow falls gently outside all over the parking lot
And yr happy yr brother is in town
And in this hotel all is right in yr world for once
Monday, January 03, 2005
100 Words About the New Theory.
The New Theory goes that you should get rid of things, that things are anchors and weigh you down, that you should clear the decks, that there is liberation in purgation.
Under the New Theory I sold a whole bunch of CDs to the used store and got eighty-three dollars, most of which I plan to use to buy new CDs once no one is looking.
Under the New Theory I gave my heart to someone and she didn't notice, so I took it back quickly.
So I guess I'm not a very good advocate for the New Theory.
Under the New Theory I sold a whole bunch of CDs to the used store and got eighty-three dollars, most of which I plan to use to buy new CDs once no one is looking.
Under the New Theory I gave my heart to someone and she didn't notice, so I took it back quickly.
So I guess I'm not a very good advocate for the New Theory.
Sunday, January 02, 2005
100 Words About Chaos.
We have no kitchen sink.
Liza slipped on a clothes pile on the upstairs landing
yesterday and bumped her ass.
The kids had homework and we didn't even know it.
Out of cat food again.
This is our holy way,
I say to myself to justify myself to myself again,
we have chosen this chaos.
Ha, like fun we have.
It just kind of happened, suddenly, gradually, bit by bit
and boom like God's wrath.
But every night we all
manage to get ourselves fed, pajama-ed, teeth brushed, and asleep.
Sometimes maybe the kids dream about a well-ordered regimented house.
Liza slipped on a clothes pile on the upstairs landing
yesterday and bumped her ass.
The kids had homework and we didn't even know it.
Out of cat food again.
This is our holy way,
I say to myself to justify myself to myself again,
we have chosen this chaos.
Ha, like fun we have.
It just kind of happened, suddenly, gradually, bit by bit
and boom like God's wrath.
But every night we all
manage to get ourselves fed, pajama-ed, teeth brushed, and asleep.
Sometimes maybe the kids dream about a well-ordered regimented house.
100 Words About Coffee.
The thing is, I hated the smell and the taste
until high school when I got my first real job;
early in the morning, in the warehouse, working with idiots.
I suddenly understood the need, the sacramental aspects of BEAN.
I embraced it like any new Muslim or Christian convert.
Last night's weak-ass decaf offering should be still legally actionable;
after that meal I needed a good strong cup so badly!
But there are so many elusive sad things I need
that it would be churlish to pick this before them.
Still though, come on, life's too short to relax mellow-ly.
until high school when I got my first real job;
early in the morning, in the warehouse, working with idiots.
I suddenly understood the need, the sacramental aspects of BEAN.
I embraced it like any new Muslim or Christian convert.
Last night's weak-ass decaf offering should be still legally actionable;
after that meal I needed a good strong cup so badly!
But there are so many elusive sad things I need
that it would be churlish to pick this before them.
Still though, come on, life's too short to relax mellow-ly.
Saturday, January 01, 2005
100 Words About Being Frozen.
The freezing rain has rained and keeps raining right now
all over the cars and the hungry shiny blackened streets.
We drive home slow with stereo turned way down low,
not enough to be off, pretending everything is still normal.
One kid snoozing in the back seat, oblivious to all,
exhausted from holiday party revelry, hyperactive cousins and multiple desserts;
One kid watching nervously, mad that the New Year's Party
had to end at all, why do parties ever end;
Wife alongside me, telling me things. I pretend to listen.
I'm watching the roads, keeping us alive, I'm frozen already.
all over the cars and the hungry shiny blackened streets.
We drive home slow with stereo turned way down low,
not enough to be off, pretending everything is still normal.
One kid snoozing in the back seat, oblivious to all,
exhausted from holiday party revelry, hyperactive cousins and multiple desserts;
One kid watching nervously, mad that the New Year's Party
had to end at all, why do parties ever end;
Wife alongside me, telling me things. I pretend to listen.
I'm watching the roads, keeping us alive, I'm frozen already.
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