It is a vague, recurrent theme, an
imperfectly recalled chorus from
a song perhaps; no words remain,
no claim to theses of significance.
It plays repetitively between those
half-remembered moments when
the brain disengages, returns there
again ere silence invades.
I see it a salutary companion who
competes for space without demands;
I’d say a benign copy of me to play
second-string with no complaints.
You shake your head amused, say
no way. Two of you could not survive
in close captivity. If anything, tinnitus
sounds agreeably much more the case...
© 27 October 2007, I. D. Carswell
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