2002/hanging

Hanging out in
the bookstore,
like a study hall
you can talk in.
And listen to
rock ‘n roll.
He wonders off,
somewhat aimlessly,
not hearing me
when I call his
name, three times.
The doctor says
he is young
to be losing
his hearing.
Our old doctor
said it was selective,
tuning out the wife.
He doesn’t hear,
if he hears
he doesn’t understand,
if he understands
he doesn’t respond,
except to answer
a question with a question,
something I cannot
get him to change.
It drives me nuts,
especially on bad
days when I haven’t
slept,
but there you have
it,
it’s something
happening in our life,
something we’re doing
until we aren’t
doing it any more.

11/2/02