All this pronto staccato they call talking
Has me wishing for closed captioning
So I can scroll through or follow
A bouncing ball to keep up. There’s no time
Between their shortened syllables.
Still, it’s silence when I stand in line at the Wawa and no one bothers
To ask me about my hand painted Converses, what secrets I add
To my meatloaf, or my relationship with Lord Jesus Christ.

They struggle to be heard among sirens and quick clips
Of cursing and I recall herds of goats bleating.
Lost in all this noise, all this need to be noted,
And I long for the quiet filled
With a glass of sweet tea, a back porch lit by fireflies,
And conversations the speed of the evening primroses blooming.

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Abe Rexrode is a student at Warren County Community College where for the past three years he has assisted in the editing of the college literary magazine, Ars Poetica. His work has appeared in East Fork and Painted Cave.

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Image by LancerEvolution (Retro Wawa) via Wikimedia Commons.