A voice on the radio that we do not know. <br />We read from a menu, change our mind; <br /> <br />write down telephone numbers promising <br />to call. Spell our name, correct what's written. <br /> <br />Just when we want to stay, it is time to go. <br /> <br />Ticket stubs on a dresser, computer messages. <br /> <br />A radio hung on the custodian's cart, playing <br />unnoticed. Sudden awareness of six-o'clock. <br />Days folded double into themselves, <br />scattered debris and the dimming afternoon. <br /> <br />We piss away our lives preparing to speak. <br />The radio slowly drifts from a station.<br /><br />Bernard Henrie<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/as-though-we-listen-to-our-lives-on-radio/
