The kitchen light at four A.M., dull distant warm world.
The wipers streaked and thumped in cold contrast.
He could see her wondering, peeking at the window, waiting.
He shuddered a shame known all too well to the drifter.
...
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Isn't it refreshing not having to impress a bunch of drunks? Now you can try to impress us, instead- - which you've done. It completely quelled any desire to sack and plunder it.
This poem combines your gift for truly colorful storytelling with your philosophical side. I waited to let the story sink in before commenting as I first got wrapped up in the imagery, which is so vivid and ALIVe! For a minute I really though you were talking about pirates! :) . Then I realized... Oh... This is a driving guy going home after a night at the bar with his buddies while the wide waits for him... Did I get it right? The last stanza is really downright amazing... The line where the couch is his life raft and then where the wife closes the blinds to shield him from the light... They're both well done but sad. He has such a lovely existence with the 'soirits, ' but then there's nothing left at home. Great poem.