To hearing loss
and the loneliness it brings
the realization that
holding the phone closer isn’t going
to make voices decipherable
the awareness
that the whole world can’t
be mumbling
jokes lost because the
punch-line repeated thrice loses
its punch
the half heard
questions with your totally
inappropriate answers
the avoidance of
gatherings where you hear everything
and nothing
discovering
two compensations: your teenagers’
music is never too loud
and
the busking bagpiper can
be turned down.
A gathering of words
Street scavenging she was searching for
to pluck from passersby.
The constant walker tossed his mutterings
onto the pavement, they were drowned
by the busking piper.
The religious tract guy was gifting the
words of Jesus but they fell
on deaf ears.
Pedestrian words floated in the cool air,
back to school bargains, two
for the price of one.
A rhythmic rap bounced off the scaffolding,
spiraling downwards, hitting the pavement
with a cool thud.
Expletives hung loosely outside the mall,
teens torturing and txting
words.
Carrier bag overflowing with second hand
words, she headed home to play
solitaire scrabble.
Kevin chose the rest home
They all run into each other, the days.
Tripe’s trembling along the afternoon
corridor so, it’s Tuesday.
They say, routine reassures us. Friday
fish, Sunday sausages - no, soup.
Sunday’s soup.
Sid sifts it through his beard. My Kevin
would think that disgusting! Evenings
and mornings,
he’d hiss, You’re so embarrassing mother.
I probably still fart when I rise
from my chair but
we’re all dodgy, deaf and daft here. Those
were his words - Kevins. I might lose my
grips, misplace my teeth,
forget the year, and the grandchildren’s
names but I won’t ever forget who
‘placed’ me here.
