On what the blind hear and the deaf see

When you looked over — as if to talk,

I stared at the coffee table,

Hiding behind the chocolate

Splattered glasses,

Creeping over the spaghetti

Crusted plates,

Sneaking in amongst the torn

Pages of a People Magazine.

Sometimes

Like the blind I can’t see.

 

When you asked — are you awake?

I listened to the noise beyond our bedroom;

Like a shabby,

Starved dog,

I nipped at the death-crunching wheels

Of a heavy coal truck,

As it whined through its gears

Braking down a hill.

Sometimes

Like the deaf I can’t hear.



Categories: Selection: Early Years

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