I Hear a Sound 22

I Hear a Sound22, by Jeff Darling


Waiting for a bus,

I think I hear a sound like people talking

a distant echo spoken to some ghost.

Through diesel cigarette stench

I seek the source, trying to hear clearly

And see to my left a seated hunchback

A mumbling young man head hung down

Eyes uplifted childlike, seeking

redemption from some specter, He alone sees

Why so wretched in his penance?

He plaintively entreats for redemption

In lingua schizophrenia, explaining with reluctance to his ghost,

The shade demanding penance, which he gives.

As I see him buckle under to the lash


As discovery steals his comfort, his ghost moves,

But the man simply sighs, and makes it clear

He understands, my intent foretells no harm

Yet he apprehends to end his mournful chant.

My own mouth opens to ask, who? Why?

Or maybe offer comfort or acceptance.

Though its stricture pains, he won’t give up the chase

Of his ritual. I see a flicker of a twitch

At the corner of his mouth, Caught up, I mime

The sad man's chorus and I realize

That for once he sees a familiar face.