Morning Radio

Morning radio
barely audible.
Background noise
tickling the weary edge
of Sunday morning sense.

Silence crackles like static
bouncing off the walls
the cupboards and dressers.
It leaks through the silver taps
and rattles the doors.

A wind of discontent
blowing harsh
across the calm
of weekend breakfast.
A son red-faced, disgraced,
a wife loud in her silence
face a map of
impending distaste.

A cyclonic low
brewing over tea cups,
later reports
will issued from
weather stations
along the storm front
baring the brunt
of her ice
and his gale.

I tune it out for now
focus instead
on the constant static
in my head.
The slow bleeding
drowsy sounds.
Morning radio

© Dave Kavanagh @

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