(Poem 133 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
You are not the kind of book with
a slick jacket I can collect on my shelf;
nor can I mark my place with sticky notes,
gum wrappers,
or old receipts.
You are an audio book with raucous
laughter, one-liner quips of witty dialogue,
random philosophical musings about religion,
and societies
latest great failings.
Sometimes I need to slow the playback
speed and crank up the volume to discern
the subtle nuances of your narration and tune
my ear to
your frequency.
Other times I realize you’re on full
blast in the middle of a raunchy scene in
public rather than coming through my headphones
like a
gentleman.
@Home Studio – 133rd poem of the year
rebekahjmarshall 