Modern Family Poem
The widened arms of the marina stretch below the fourth-story balcony.
Briny winds waft into the open door, into the small apartment.
She sleeps through the noon-bells, her nocturnal employment awaits.
The atmosphere seems heavy and oppressive. It is the chemical fog.
Exhaust fumes, the spitting, and breathing of this living city.
He sits on the loveseat and watches TV with the volume low.
A young girl sits at the table, only pretending to do homework.
The two dogs pace around the apartment, anxiously.
Do they dream of backyards and open spaces, too?
It’s quiet within these borrowed white walls.
Electrical humming and the occasional chime of dog tags.
Mustn’t wake her.
About the poet: