Bernard Henrie

As Though We Listen To Our Lives On Radio

A voice on the radio
that we do not know.
Or we read from a menu,
then change our mind.

Write down
telephone numbers
thinking we will call.

Spell our name,
correct what's written.

What are we waiting for?
Coffee, talk.
Computer messages.
Ticket stubs on a dresser.

Waiting rooms.
A radio hung
on the custodian’s cart
and playing unnoticed.

Sudden awareness
that it's six-o'clock.
Days folded double
into themselves,
scattered debris
and the dimming
afternoon.

We piss away our lives,
lingering by a mirror.
Preparing to speak.
Dreaming.

The radio slowly
losing a station.