Three are gone, and, yet, the house still feels a couple sizes small.
A children's movie's on the TV. One kid's running back and forth,
The other's constipated, screaming. My son occupies the kitchen,
Mashing stalks of galangal. The wife attends the stopped-up kid
While changing for a birthday party to which I'm obliged to go.
I just want a place to hide, a wish that won't be honored now.
The wife is changed, I trudge outside the house which is too small.