for a moment
he is here
hearing
the clink of dishes
the sound of running water
the occasional squeak
of oversized dish gloves
and the silverware

ringing like the triangle
he played
in symphonic band

and then he is lost
in thought
about the girl he asked
to prom
who played the clarinet

and the taste of her kiss
and the light blue sway
of her sun dress
and then a year of
smattered memories

he could tell you
what it sounds like
to drain the water

the violent sucking sounds
the ebullient gurgle

but he didn’t hear it this time
for the letters he was rereading
in his mind
saying she was no longer
in love
that she was going to Michigan
for the summer
and not to expect
a letter or a call

that is the way it works

but in the middle of conversation
sometimes

his wife asking
“Why aren’t you listening to me?”

his boss saying
“This is important news…”

and then the news of a bombing
in London
he heard about on the radio
in the morning
drowning out the rest
of his boss’s words

we don’t hear
the crunch of new
snow beneath our feet

for old thoughts
like ones and zeros repeating

the waves crashing
like the universe’s breathing
on the sea shore

the band playing
the answers we need
through the speakers
in the restaurant
at night

listening is at war with thought
or usually
thought at war
with listening