That is the question.
I used to worry about not hearing things.
People would say something,
I would lean forward,
align my head,
hear something something,
catch a word or two,
nod as if knowingly,
then comes the next barrage
and in there somewhere
a question I couldn’t answer
because I just didn’t know what.
People, kind people,
would try raising their voices
by degrees
like turning up the volume dial
until I finally knew what
they were talking about
and trying not to try their patience.
A hearing aid
is in my near future
and I’d better learn to wear it
if I want to stay
a part of this world.
I will give in.
I promise.
But now,
as if that isn’t enough
to worry about,
I also worry about things
that aren’t here to hear,
voices that can’t be,
saying things they couldn’t.
As if that’s not enough,
I worry about worrying.
I worry about what other people
worry about,
and what voices they hear.
I worry about the people
who want to run our country
and what they hear.
Do they hear me?
I worry there’s more than one
whose brain has been eaten
by a worm that then dies,
and I think,
if it kills a worm,
“That’s some poison brain!”
No wonder they can’t hear me!
I worry about those brains
not connected to the ears,
and I don’t know the hearing aid for that.
At least I can hear
when people say, “Stop worrying!”
And I answer back,
“I can’t worry enough!”