They are upstairs, they are downstairs,

they are all around the house.

Their children do not know

what they are going to do.

The boy crawls under his bed

with his soldiers and his tanks.

The girl crawls out the window

almost stuck beside her bed.

The shouts turn to screams

like they always do.

That crash is a flower pot.

That clunk is an ice tray.

Bang is the door to the dining room.

Sometimes they punch a hole

in a wall and have to pay

that man charges an arm and a leg.

Sometimes a neighbor calls

to say the sheriff is a friend.

Once cops flashed blue and red,

but he showed his scratches and she flirted

and they went right away.

If the children are not quiet

fists will march to their rooms.

So the boy starts a war

with guns don’t make a peep

and the girl draws herself,

only better, on the roof.