The old queen-sized boxspring creaks
as one of the three children sleeping on it repositions.
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.