Meet the Family

Here is my father. An old man
Trying to be a young man.
I’ve watched him from
The corner of my eye
Scanning the headlines
As I rush from bedroom to bathroom
Back and forth and out the door
For he must be powerless
Outside of his territory. Slightly
Myopic Machiavelli in a
Crumpled linen shirt,
Affable prince of 500 square feet
Of faux-marble flooring,
1 kitchen and 1 study,
1 dining room, 1 living room
Successfully avoided, and
1 master bedroom, very cold.
You may save the applause
For later. The crisp newspaper
Crackles as he beats a path
Through the financial section.

May I present my mother
Now, chirpy, restless,
Anxious for praise.
Immaculate makeup and
Clothes make a vessel
To pour herself in.
She buys too many groceries.
She sweeps, sweeps,
Sweeps. The grapes she
Proffers are too sweet for
My liking. Anyway I’m
Halfway out the hallway.
Only then does she call.
Her voice is shrill
Like an unpracticed
Understudy. She speaks
My name. Polished
Windows sparkle like
Diamonds in the sun.
It is night-time that
She fears.