Silent Night

Deep in the dark of silent night tiptoed around the house,
only sound my stale breath from evening glass of port sipped
quietly while random thoughts floated in the shadows.

Triscuits called to me from their sleepy closet bed
begging me to consume with classic muenster cheese,
I chose not to answer.

Street glistened with dabs of freshly sprinkled rain
that must have fallen before the ghost of inconsequential
ramblings interrupted my repose.

Switched on muted TV where talking heads
gesticulated their grievances, which didn't
need sound to identify as trivial pursuit
of fake ambitions.

Tiptoeing back to bed, so not to wake my half-deaf poodle,
replayed years of recriminations from wives now ex,
tiresome bosses, until they too faded leaving me alone,
responding to tweets from my dreams.