The King of Carrot Flowers

three.

They sit together bound by consternation

To a table leaning slightly to the right,

While their daughters hold their breath beside the staircase

And feel three voices, late into the night

Mommy’s words are floating to the ceiling,

Daddy’s rumble deep into the floor,

And the newsman babbles softly in the corner

Though his problems hardly matter anymore

The whispering chime of wine in empty glasses

Offsets the Zeppelin song Dad’s guitar breathes,

And Mom is staring into painted plaster

Because windows leave too much for her to see

Still – the television’s talking in the distance,

But the man inside it sees into our souls

Still – his empty voice lets us pretend to listen

And think about the places we will go.