It’s not what we’re talking about, 

It’s what we’re not talking about,

It’s that we really don’t know 

What the other one is talking about,

 

The worse the outside news becomes

The nicer we are to each other

Without a thought as to why we

Ever spend time with each other,

 

Now that the kids have grown and left

She doesn’t call out to anyone,

Raise her contralto voice, demand and

Plead for the neighbourhood to listen,

 

There’s a blurriness around us, 

No distinction, as though a photograph has 

Caught someone moving slightly,

Marginally out of focus,

 

I attempted a complete reinvention

With a straight face, but

She laughed, the thing is

I don’t see myself as funny anymore.