papa listens to Don Giovanni in the dark

caruso crackles under the needle
the last ashes from papa’s luckys
adding one more hole to the yellowed armchair
a single line of smoke looping like a thin noose
the bottom of his glass
overlapping traces of old rings
it has been a bad night

tears in the mirror
mama gently smoothes her pancake cream
over the darkest swells
wincing as she tries to hide
the topic of the evening
it has been a bad night

the oldest have already fled to the street
leaving two faces in shadow
quietly waiting
for the sound of the player
retracting from the vinyl
signaling the Cuervo stupor
so they can return to bed
it has been a bad night