15 August 2010


the perpetual hum of the
air conditioning units block out
the street noise so it seems
the neighbors mime with madly
gesticulating hands, their mouths
moving, but wordless, these
passing members of the play, the
man in black dragging his
bag of cans, the lap dog
cosseted in a stroller colored

storm coming--the sudden dark,
casts the room in shadow, no
need for a weatherman to see
what way the wind blows and
the plink, plink, of the drops
are a rough morse code
repeating, again repeating, here
you are, again, to hear
these same old sounds, each
filed away and stored in
aural memory, the clatter a
relief in the cool quiet of the
bedroom and him just
waking from a nap with a cry
for an embrace, some food, too


Marie said...

I love the way this poem conveys an atmosphere, a brief scene, and an attendant emotion.

Marie Marshall

rToady said...

Really nice one... funny how non-relaxing this nap is, thanks to the language driving relentlessly forward.

Disconnected said...

Great work. As the previous poster said - atmospheric. Also, elegantly compiled and with great flow.