Synchronous Babble (rev)

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 stills the dust.

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

But you can’t tell the difference
above the asthmatic whine of an
antiquated vacuum cleaner.
© 30 September 2006, I.D. Carswell