'Walls have ears' they'd say
now even eavesdroppers stay away
Yet here you always are
a small, safe, listening room
catching those snatches
of song, my impromptus,
and thoughts not just thought
but spoken, at random. aloud
the way a radio surfs the waves
across the tuning dial.
Nothing else transmits now
only me in reverie.
Those daffodils are dropping
in the vase, still glowing
so even the windows are dulled
with a coating of dust and rain
either side of the glass. That means
the cleaning season; dishing
out the discards, making space,
more room for me in you.
For Sanaa’s poetics prompt in which we write a ‘conversation poem’, a monologue with an absent person or inanimate thing.
PoetryPix 