the spare room

I always found comfort in sadness
It seemed only then things were true
But after trying to fight it
I finally decided
There's room for happiness too.

art just isn't what it used to be

Hearing the songs
By attractive young males
Of the less lyrically inclined
It's remarkably discouraging
The lengths some will go
All for the sake of a rhyme.

they're at the wrong house, right?

A fire truck and ambulance on our street
Two stretchers being wheeled away
On our lawn and the neighbors', paramedics marched off
Smoke billowed out hot and grey

A grim-faced policeman talks to my dad
Who's having trouble saying a word
He puts a hand on his shoulder, and asks him again
But they're too far away to be heard

A knot of people have gathered now
Curious as to what happened today
So am I, as I run up the street
I sure hope the neighbors are ok.