The smoke is laminating through the air
in horizontal zones of grayish white
that sting my eyes and dry my throat and tear
to streaks the softness of the evening light.

The music thrums like weapons in my ears.
Competing conversations clash and press
and ricochet till every sound I hear’s
a dueling decibel that amps the stress.

At last the visitors collect their stuff.
They make me help them find their missing keys,
and hours after I have had enough
they drive away and leave me as I please,
to washing up and clearing trash and rest,
without the imposition of a guest.