I say hello
To that old crimp in your voice
I’m familiar with the drum skin pulled
- taut over your throat
I hear it and my forehead reacts
Pulling up into tight pleats – ironed in place
By years of these calls
Circumstance is a fickle companion
Left wild, it will always turn on you
And you and I have never quite
Gotten the knack of training
:Shush our rowdy children to hear you speak
:Grab a cigarette and pace the walk
How do you train circumstances?
The whip flails in a useless Q
Over our heads without a crack
Never accomplishing anything
Nothing is subdued or controlled
So I hold numbly to the phone
And sink dully into quiet
No point really in listening
I know the words already
We’re screwed.
(c) Tasha Chinnock 2008
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