Dad felt depressed after the wedding,
despite his successful children dancing
and hugging. He and mom, dragging
their ninety years, slowly moved
into the next room;
the loud music afflicted their ears.
Two of his sons researched the dj’s
selections on their phones, getting
into music from various angles.
The younger wedding guests looked like angels.
Dad imagined, I’m sure, sitting at the head
of some table, offering wit and advice
to children and grandchildren. At least be nice,
at least pretend to listen.
Eat vegetables. Don’t yell.
I still remember the sound my old phone made
when my ex-lover sent me a text.
When you speak, who listens to you?
Who stands at the window, dreaming? You do.