Communication for Crash Test Dummies 101
(for Scott, and Tony Hoagland, 3-09)
They say it takes two to communicate.
Otherwise you're just talking to yourself,
standing in the corner of the room, asking the mirror how its day went.
I open my mouth and the words come out slowly,
like an LSD dream or talking underwater, yet I'm learning how to communicate.
But it ain't easy; each word like giving birth to broken glass.
He's not listening.
The microphone always gets unplugged whenever I'm on stage.
I'm talking to an empty theatre,
his seat vacant, only an Exit light burns, reflecting red on my sleeve.
He always has to go, traffic's bad, the dog knocked over a vase.
And I'm left texting cyberspace where words bounce to Mars before hitting earth, broken, the "I" now looking like an "L," all the letters re-arranged like a cryptogram.
I want to be heard. I need to hear words,
but it's like commanding a man in a wheelchair to walk.
Though you hope there's feeling in his legs,
you could poke him with an ice pick and not even get a flinch.
"Get out of the chair. Rise. Walk!" I command,
but only meet silence,
then the groan of rusty wheel bearings
as he silently rolls
away.
(for Scott, and Tony Hoagland, 3-09)
They say it takes two to communicate.
Otherwise you're just talking to yourself,
standing in the corner of the room, asking the mirror how its day went.
I open my mouth and the words come out slowly,
like an LSD dream or talking underwater, yet I'm learning how to communicate.
But it ain't easy; each word like giving birth to broken glass.
He's not listening.
The microphone always gets unplugged whenever I'm on stage.
I'm talking to an empty theatre,
his seat vacant, only an Exit light burns, reflecting red on my sleeve.
He always has to go, traffic's bad, the dog knocked over a vase.
And I'm left texting cyberspace where words bounce to Mars before hitting earth, broken, the "I" now looking like an "L," all the letters re-arranged like a cryptogram.
I want to be heard. I need to hear words,
but it's like commanding a man in a wheelchair to walk.
Though you hope there's feeling in his legs,
you could poke him with an ice pick and not even get a flinch.
"Get out of the chair. Rise. Walk!" I command,
but only meet silence,
then the groan of rusty wheel bearings
as he silently rolls
away.
1 comment:
Keep in mind that men communicate only 10% through words. There are many other signs to communicate. Talking is usually the last one for them!
He very well might be listening; he just doesn't agree or wants to chill or doesn't want to deal. Unfortunately that too is a way of communicating.
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