That loud crap blares

from speakers large and small.

Can’t understand the words –

just dull thuds, synthetic sounds,

style of dress I’d almost laugh at.

Almost. “Deviant,” then in my mind, “thugs;”

no fun being scared of everyone younger.

I remember how my wife’s family

talked about me before she was my wife.

Nat King Cole and Sinatra played all too clear.

Too much vinegar on the salad.

One dinner I stared at a candle

flickering on the table.

The room had more than enough light.

In discrete moments the flame struggled.

My wife remembers the slight smirk I wore,

bright in its own way.