An Ode to Forgetting One’s AirPods

A man and his dog. My dog and I.
We walk the quotidian streets—
a six-legged, leash-linked creature
on a syncopated voyage of exploration.

He scans a scenery invisible to me,
of smells and sounds, soil and spit.
I (the jaded one, the sapiens sapiens)
already know roads, buildings, signs;
I prefer to enter a blue-toothed world
populated by voices cast into pods.

So it goes, day by day.

Then the bubble reveals itself by breaking.
In a momentary lapse of routine,
the fruity white gadgets are abandoned.
(On a shelf, in a drawer—who knows?)
Outside, a cacophony of subtleties
pours into the liberated space of mind.

A crow screeches. A plane gently rumbles
behind clouds. The laughter of a child.
Car doors closing. A bark, a meow.
The fading rattle of an old bicycle.

Paw-steps on grass, on sand. Vaguely,
a tramcar in the distance. Birdsong.
The crackle of dry twigs. A chuckle.
A young heron swoops from a streetlight,

• • •

Image credit: Zino Bang (source)

Father, son, husband, friend and writer by day; asleep by night. Happily pondering the immortality of the crab wherever words are shared.

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