He stands in the room
A gun in his hands
Shaking it before the woman
Who doesn't understand
Why she couldn't change the channel
Watching with wide eyes
His kids flee the house
While the woman stands her ground
Not wanting to be as quite as a mouse
Screeching German and shattered English
Looking out his window
He shouts orders from the sidelines
As he glances at one of his boys
Standing in the corner
Smelling the putrid odor of his fear at night
Trembling, the boy waits for the sheet to dry
Driving now he glares at the woman in the backseat
Daring her to ask to sit in the front
Ignoring him she turns to her boy
Swift decision of kicking her out of the car
Seems pleasant
But here is where memory lane comes to a close
His harsh words, turned to dust
As he sits on his porch
Reading the Bible silently
Listening to German music
That he can't understand
His ex-wife to faraway to translate
