When things keep happening that boggle me,
between myself and one I dearly love,
when doors are slammed and chairs are shoved, and we
appear to live on different worlds, above
all else I want to talk the problem out,
but if my interlocutor resists,
and if my question’s answered with a shout,
a claim that I’m an act while anger twists
a face to hate, a jaw to rigid grind,
refusing to engage in any talk,
suffusing with confusion, I’m inclined
to laugh inside and take a little walk
away from tantrum and apart from murk,
unless/until you’re ready for some work.