Missing it.

It is evening and I am sitting in a bar.

Cold white wine sits at my elbow and

the keyboard is beneath my fingers.

To my right a blind woman sits with her husband and a dog

released from his harness lays beneath her feet.

Her husband is talking.

He has been talking for the last half an hour.

In the corner of the bar the television shows the Olympics.

There should be a commentary. Probably is a commentary.

But the man on my right, the man with the woman who is blind,

is talking so loudly all I hear is his voice.

He is talking about the Olympics.

He keeps talking about the Olympics.

He talks on and on about the Olympics

And misses it all.

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