Synchronous babble

The little things that should
amuse conspire these days,
combine in subtle ways;
after thirty seven years
you would expect them to
relent a bit.

Imagine,
a radio playing in
each room you visit
during the course
of vacuuming, not to listen to
but to make the room
alive - somehow it rouses
pleasant memories,
fills an empty room
and chills the dust.

How do I know?
I change the station
on one or two to let
a different message
into the ambience
instead of the same,
synchronous babble.

But you can’t tell the difference
above an asthmatic whine of the
labouring vacuum cleaner.
© I.D. Carswell