The barking dog outside is
                        not your only problem, barely
                      drowning out cantankerous
                     murmurs in your head,
                    memory particles
                   from yesterday’s disquiet dinner
                  another night, another fight
                 —that third tequila was a mistake—
                and what’s his problem anyway
               this shrieking skanky canine
              psychopath who doesn’t even care
             that he distracts from your self-
            medication, vain attempt
           to induce calm,
          he’d like to rip up the world
         well so would you
        sometimes
       —like this morning—
      and why should he or anyone
     else have a good time
    when the socks piled
   on your blanket chest
  no longer stack neatly, 
 when you see the leaning
column’s incipient topple.