Questions we can't answer.

[Colm Roe]

What do you hear?
I listen to the contacts, how well
each gear fits against the other
as they spin me through time,
cog on cog.

Often, they require no oil, hum
effortless serenades, lost
in these moments my almost
frictionless clock accelerates
and I'm distanced a little more
from what other people hear, like
an electric motor
self-contained
sealed.

His eventual reply arrived.
Casual, generic concern
became specific
"How the fuck can I deal with this?"
His twin died.

Time slows,
and gears grind me back outside
to find the answer
to his question.
But all I can do is listen.

Far better
than any pathetic words
I could muster.

[Tracy Mitchell]

Wow Colm.
The poem gives a twist different than the title led me to expect.
Well crafted.

Nits:

S.1 L.2 -- each gears fit --? >> Each gear fits?
S.2 L.3 -- delete comma after 'my'?

You handle the emotion/drama/sentiment of the poem's conclusion very well.

Cheers.

T

[Colm Roe]

Thanks Tracy.
Both nits fixed

[Tracy Mitchell]

Hi Colm --

hope you don't mind that I am posting to bump this poem back up because it is a real good poem and should be getting more play.

Cheers.

T

[Colm Roe]

Not at all T. I'm rather fond of this one.
Your appreciation is more than enough.

[indar]

Tracy was right to bring this back up. 

Two longer stanzas dedicated to a metaphor for life humming along as we think it should interrupted by something-not=quite-right and then the shock of the revelation--a dead twin. 

Fabulous write Colm, I can't say more.

[Colm Roe]

Thank you Linda