Headphones – poem

Take off your headphones and listen to the world to the music of the rain on the tarmac, to the clink clink clink of rope on the metal pole to the sss sss sss from the earphones of the kid next to you on the bus, who has his eyes closed and is thinking about summer and the rolling rise and fall swelling sound of the surf, and the sirens that pass in the night, and the rock and the pop and the jazz that fades like shade between one car and the next as you walk past them all, queueing to leave the city, and the loud demand of the herring gull that nests in the cliff of the tower that was built by men with rattling trowels and shouts that echoed across the empty site, and wolf whistles for each pretty girl that wiggled past, quietly knowing that she was dressed in her best, in a bright cotton dress, with white gloves, and her heels tap tap tap on the paving stones, and her purse tightly clasped, and the breeze in the trees sings a soft song and scatters blossom on her shiny hair, and she smiles, and listens to the hum of traffic crossing the bridge, and the squeal of the door on the bus, and there you are, looking out, and now take off your headphones and listen to the music of the world.

A poem for Matthew at Daily Inklings. 

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1 thought on “Headphones – poem

  1. My favorite phrase: “and the rock and the pop and the jazz that fades like shade between one car and the next”–all the sounds in the poem do this, what a treat that begs you to slow down and read again from the beginning

    Like

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