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Downstairs, the old man with three teeth is yelling. Being upstairs is sometimes no better than being downstairs. He and his son are arguing again. He don't speak English too good. By nine, his beer has been guzzled, becoming an authority of his own. Meaningless words fly back and forth. Reason is replaced by loudness. His life belongs to the kitchen table he sits at, night after night. When he was twenty-two, he must have thought of more than a kitchen table and white T-shirts. Didn't his youthful dreams search for much more? Or did he never sleep, only to lie awake, staring into the blackness, never dreaming. |
Innocence 
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Big Picture Delusion Humility Perspective
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