Are only the tools of the trade To swinging ***** and easy Janes Like these now attempting to muffle their shouts In the purple suburban evening where God knows Only all the neighbors are striving to listen; A couple of loveless friends ******* Each other out of breath and full of big plans—
And now I’m sure that we can, Just listen to her moan! A man once told me I’ve got to give it to her To stick a son in there. I might ask, but there’s no need now to beg Because we deserve it too much. Our dry spell is all wet tonight; Are those the cries of a baby I hear, Or our bedsprings squeaking?—
It only hurts a little when he gets this excited But instances are excusable *** folds in memory And ****** success caresses forms into forms I know she will be beautiful Her beauty will come to her as easily as it passed me by I am not sad, neither And the sweat, his sweat drips from his naked chin onto mine—
I tell mom and dad that’s fine, I want another brother. They make noises in their room Which are so loud they keep me awake. So they decided to make them after dinner, When I am trying to read. Sometimes I listen to them very carefully, but Then I have nightmares of Them hurting each other. They are making noises now; Something not good is happening.
title taken from Jonathan Safran Foer's novel 'Everything is Illuminated'