Am I O.K., Jack?
Poem By Fred Babbin
Our heating system speaks
but I can't understand the words – yet.
And the the toilet flush sounds like
advertising on TV,
but I don't hear the words yet.
And when water in the kitchen sink
goes down the drain, I hear sounds,
but I still don't hear the words.
And sometimes there are high-pitched bells,
without a song,
That's left to the little man
who sings to me
when everything is quiet
He can sing anything
I think of, or don't think of.
And if all of this is fantasy, so be it,
But I haven't heard the words yet.