what it was like living at home, and to a lesser extent, what its like to visit |
Home again—seems like I left years ago Couldn’t be though, everything is still the same The egos and eccentricities all rush to greet me at the door Of the living room of course; their comfort is crucial Everything I’ve turned a tone-deaf ear to Is now playing a sharp contralto with a tambourine background A “welcome home” banner tacked across the rear wall A backdrop to misery and all of its now-awake bedfellows Yet, I haven’t gone on any great journey Only fulfilling my mundane time obligations at work and such There was no great vanishing act At times like this, I start to fear that there never will be Postponements, hardships, inexcusable Accusations hurled contemptuously from rocking chairs Their endless back and forth motions Only too symbolic of the allegations themselves Stone-faced indifference meets my explanations Postponements! Bland disappointment invalidates my reasons Hardships! Excuses are all I have left But I deny their use on my own principals My actions are justified in my own mind Any attempt at excusing them away would only detract from my choices Twisting and turning, the exchange winds itself into an intricate knot Which implodes from the irrational logic that was keeping it semi-cohesive Leaving the ripples of familial shockwaves to crash upon members Because in my house, each person is their own island |