The flaring sounds of trumpets, on frosty audacious Sunday
The smell of fried chicken, rice, and peas with cabbage and sweet potatoes leave my stomach apprehensive
My mother, a vigorous soul blasted miles Davis like it just came out that year
She kisses my forehead, a look of optimism comforts her body
In another dark room, I hear grunts, the sound of glasses clanking, and high fives being handed
I have never been in this room I was told to stay out, curiosity killed the cat but luckily I'm a boy
The scent of cigars filled the house, at night I lie awake "whos in there"?
My imagination took a joy ride, picturing all kinds of images of men sitting around a table playing cards
The urge became too much I finally went into the room, filled with darkness I heard a strong voice
My heart was filled with warmth only moments later for my mother to tell me to get out of the bathroom and go to bed
No one was in the room, there wasn't a room, this figure I alluded to and made up was my father
