The old queen-sized boxspring creaks

as one of the three children sleeping on it repositions.

Cousins.

A creaking somewhat different

than the wooden door with chipping white paint

or the bent tin window screens.

Those are all somehow louder than the 

soft squeak emitted when opening an empty wallet.

Quiet pats come out every time

  an overdue bill is dropped onto the growing pile.

The worst sounds are the adults fighting-

  brothers, sister-in-laws, significant others;

  clanging chains much scarier than the

swaying light's pull string.

The kid don't want to hear anymore.