Sonnet CXI

My house is one small world contained inside
a grey brick building I call Home, Sweet Home.
Each night the cultures via food collide:
we eat samosas, sushi, sour dough.
Each room becomes a different time zone – time
can vary from five minutes to much more.
Exchange of goods, ideas, good jokes, and sighs
occur at dinner time, as quick as prose.

A family’s a lot of fun, so is
a home to share it with. Except for bugs
that crawl inside and bug us till they die.
Or other buggers – telemarketers.
Despite the salesmen at the door, we hug
and share our tears and laughs until the night.