there’s only ever one argument: his, br bawling out whoever punctuates br the brief intervals his cussing br | interrupts, something unheard, reason perhaps. br br What you never get is silence, br always some groan on the horizon br out on the borders of attention br where would be quiet if they let it. br br Always some conversation far away, br foreign, banal. dramatic, translated br it means my wife’s name is Judit. br I am an engineer from Spidertown. br br What to reply? Your Majesty, br my name is Smith. All lies anyway, br all we do is get drunk, the evening’s end br collapsing loosely into gutturals. br br We drink to silence, where the stars think. br We drink to the music of the rain on the roof. br We drink to mothers, brothers, lovers, kids, br to the candle burning down its length br br till someone blows it out. Distance br makes no difference, the same want br for love or money, the numbers of the winning line br in the state lottery like a needle in the brain. br br And then I’ve had enough. I want br to go home now, far away, to plug myself br back into the sockets, the blackbird, br the evening humming stories to itself, br br everything in its place, the moths, br the mouse in the mousetrap, and br in the next street the same old argument. br He’s sure he’s right.