About Me Views and Reviews Stories Stories for Children Poetry/Songs Links Contact

Copyright © 2011 - Angela E Brooks

About Me

Moving On

Music pounds through the floor of the boy’s room

Drum-beats forcing me to tap the counter

While loudly debating the finer points of freedom

With a truculent teen. She is truculent

I am justifiably demonstrably right.

Younger child whines loudly, clutching her rag.

Their father shouts, drowning the hubbub

Shifting the lexicon, bringing a resentful peace.

Children protest, flounce, bang distant doors.

All is quiet, until later it begins again.

The noise a family makes, at dinner, at leisure,

At bedtime, morning, noon and night.

Then in a flash it is gone.

Peace reigns in the newly quiet family home.

We look at each other, where does the time go?

Now we fill the silence in quieter ways

Doors no longer slam, the music is our choice now,

Though no less noisy for all that.

We visit our children as adults

In their homes, chaos and hubbub.

So strange to them – so familiar to us –

Sons, now fathers, shout, drowning the noise

Bringing short periods of resentful quiet

Followed by slamming doors.

We smile, enjoying the hubbub.

Then go home again to peace, and quiet.