SETTING: Four friends were chattering over dinner in a middle-class suburb of Washington D.C. In the background, the television chattered away throwing a neon light onto the cramped dining room. When discussion shifted to American imperialism, the atmosphere in the room became uncomfortably tense. Oblivious to the feelings of others, Tim suddenly pushed back his chair and theatrically read the following poem.

"I have something to share," he announced as he stood slowly, theatrically, as if mounting a stage no one had asked for. The evening light caught his jawline, sharpening it. Tim cleared his throat, tipped an imaginary cowboy hat, then began:

When Tim finished, his final words hang in the air like stale smoke. The television continued its distant chatter. Somewhere in the kitchen pipes, water clanked and sighed. No one applauded.

Terri exhaled through her nose and rubbed her temples as if warding off a headache. The television light caught the fatigue beneath her eyes.

No one answered immediately. Sam lifted his beer and took a long swallow.

A television announcer declared another 'strategic success.' Tim sat down slowly, his theatrical bravado gone. Outside, a car passed, washing the room in white before vanishing.