Non-Confrontational

Here we go again;

something else I’ve failed to do.

I feel the tension in the air;

too thick for the knife to cut through.

I can see it; her discomfort;

she holds her arms as she speaks.

Eyebrows upraised as her voice slowly peaks.

She must have seen it, too;

The confusion on my face

as my eyes squinted to understand

the meaning of her pace.

Now I hear the sound

of the anger in her words.

A fever pitch of violence

raining down like shitting birds.

They say it’s good luck,

but I really hate the smell.

Fear emanating from anger;

a steaming fragrant yell.

Leaves a bad taste in my mouth;

I wish I knew what to do.

I retreat into my shell

to consult my point of view.