Early morning getting ready for work
the sun barely risen, still rising.
I listen intently to morning.
Outside a sleepy bird chirp, no cars.
Cooking with quiet kitchen sounds.
The TV flickering, too low to really hear.
“Why is he wearing that?”
Crabby voice from the couch.
I don’t jump
mother has slept on the couch.
“Those impractical clothes must be hot as heck!”
I chew mindlessly.
“These people are strange!”
I am quiet, but not the sink water.
“Who plays guitar like that?”
Dishes clink as I put them away.
“No one wears their strap that short!”
I tread carefully up the stairs.
The program ends, downstairs in silence once again.
I listen to my mother grow old.