how the argument ends

she likes

to argue, i like to sleep,

or to turn

my

focus on the window,

to the birds

flying by,

to the woods filling

up again

with leaves.

she likes

to wave her finger

at me,

to bang the door,

to slam

her fist against the table.

she may be

right about many

things,

but i like to stare out 

the window

and pretend not to listen,

hoping at some point

she'll stop

and go away.

i prefer to ignore.