May 3, 2021

I tell them that I am going deaf.


Let’s meet in the field tonight; you walk in from one side and I will walk in from the other. Come summer, the field will be filled with sunflowers, or maybe tomatoes. Tonight? Just you and me, joining hands. Friends. 

-jobe


Do our ears keep growing as we age? 

Seems so. 

How is it that a thing gets larger 

And yet it is weaker? 

How I love to hear the birds -- 

An owl in an oak with a soft hoot.

Geese flying overhead - they always sound

Like old people arguing.

My own birds in their cages as they chatter

Along with music from the radio. 

And the sounds of the wind! Lovely.

A train air horn at night.

The giggle of a child.


I will miss all that.


Every year these ears worsen. 

More than that; every month. 

People don’t seem to believe me

When I tell them that I am going deaf.

Perhaps my laugh is so large

Or my embrace is so bear-like

That such a thing doesn’t seem possible.


Sometimes I just pretend to hear people.

The soft speakers. 

I am an actor! At meetings 

I miss a lot. Too much.

Around the house my wife startles me

Constantly. I don’t hear her 

Walking up behind me, 

And then she’ll speak, loudly

So I’ll hear her, and I jump. 

Or I won’t know she is there

And she’ll close a closet door sharply.


It’s like having a ghost grab me!


I am moving through my mid sixties.

This will only get worse,

And the price of a decent hearing aid?

….I am but a poor poet.


Oh, sweet sounds.

Waves lapping the rocks on the shore.

Thunder across the valley, like a rocket launch.

The whimper of a puppy. 

The sigh of a woman. 

Sandpaper on wood. 

I will miss these things.


As I move into the silence.

-jobe


LINKS-

Ren Powell

Bait the Lines

Hardcore Zen

haiku eye

The Urban Mermaid

HOOT, a monthly literary magazine on a postcard

The Slowdown

clay and branches

THOTPURGE

Summer's End

Medusa's Kitchen

The Middlewesterner

The Morning Porch/Patio

VIA NEGATIVA, purveyors of fine poetry since 2003

thanks/jobe


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