Impasse

I sit in my room,
The lamp on my nightstand glows,
My father snores downstairs,
Like a metronome,
If metronomes snored.
Outside, the streetlights cast their sodium haze
Onto the branches,
And there’s probably a party going on,
Down the street.
Not really a party, just some teens
Getting up to no good,
Making a lot of noise,
In their backyard.
I hear the angered meowl and scrowl,
Of one of the many neighborhood cats,
And the cheerful shouts from the youngsters,
Probably poking at it and giving the poor cat a hard time.
The girl, skinny, drives an Oldsmobile Cutlass with a dented bumper,
And is paired with a dark-haired boy,
And there’s more of them,
Bonfire in the yard, alcohol and weed and other stuff,
And I sit in my room, detached but attached from the world,
At an impasse,
Listening to my father snore.