The Empty Doorway

I have a friend who has an uncontrollable rage
to scream at the television when his team loses.
He's not a crazy man, he just has a jolt.
When a trigger, like his favorite team losing,
flicks against his temper, he turns on
like a switch and lunges his voice into the open
splitting the air around him. This concerns me.
I wonder how much anger he houses
inside his flesh and bone.
When there are no sport events
he's usually calm, enjoying the seconds
of his life one breath at a time.

We once watched the Dodgers fall
under the mercy of the Yankees.
He exploded with agonic might,
thrusting the door to his room
off its hinges and onto the floor
bashed and broken leaving the doorway
an empty memorial of where his door
used to be. I couldn't stay.
I left knowing that this true moment
is what life offers, a true insight
into the power of human behavior.

My friend says I need to express myself.
Unlike him, I hold in the angst until
it affects the way I feel. I don't think
this is healthy. I think to myself,
about shouting out like him.
Erupting over sports and roaring
out all the frustration
of the world.

In his room, we sit quietly most of the time
watching sports with seldom conversation.
I wait for another episode, because it is
the moment within the moment
of letting go that I admire.