jamie jenkins: listen

• MP3 play whole song, hi-fi (broadband)
• MP3 play whole song, lo-fi (modem)

she folds her arms across her chest,
“i do my best,”
(though i’d say less)
“but i guess it aint enough.”

and i study patterns on the ground,
she looks down,
feeding her frown.
“yeah,” i reply with half a smile,
“life is tough.”


footsteps,
hard against the shiny asphalt,
she stomps away,
angry i’d say.
but she comes and goes,
who am i to say “no, halt.”


my stomach crashes to the floor,
i say no more,
gaze on the door,
“you’ve made your bed now sleep.”

but my eyes are open wide,
searching for a place to hide,
to sow the pain
her words have reaped.


footseps,
inaudible now,
and i try to justify
the chilling silence by laughing,
but it’s unlasting
and hollow.


my pulse picks up
the frantic rhythm
that the pounding rain has given
as i concentrate on breathing.

“in and out”,
my body shouts,
though my lungs seem to doubt
that air could be relieving.


branches,
soft against the window,
that seem to vie to come inside.
but who is to say
if it’s better this way?
i’d rather not know.