Her mother’s squawking police scanner on the kitchen counter, 24/7. Her sister Connie’s stereo blasting The Doors. The shouting.

The clack-clack-clacking printing presses for 32 years, the baby cries, the shouting, the haranguing phone calls, the subway trains all night along the El.

Now the monitor’s constant beep beep beep…

Paul Lamar has a poem forthcoming in San Pedro River Review and an essay in riddlebird magazine.