Neighborhood Blackout

Pitch Black.
I can hear the loud neighbors
bitching.

“Where’s my fuckin beer?”
                “Get off the goddamn counter you mangy cat!”

I think about the frozen ham steaks and if the kids will stay sleeping.

I wait.
In the darkness.
Almost sweating.

If only the crash brought silence.
It doesn’t.

The neighborhood is alive.
I can hear all of the babies cry.
I can hear all of the dogs that want inside.
I hear Mr. Loud again,
mad at his wife.

                “What’dcha do with my fuckin beer?!”

“Screw you; I didn’t touch your beer!”

I can hear the crack of the slap.
I can hear the door slam, somewhere on the street.

I think about making pancakes for breakfast,
and hope my kids stay asleep.