from inside my head, the narrator won’t stop yammering.
what are you even doing here, and why?
she is kind of an asshole, suspicious and judgmental,
polar opposite of my audible voice, all girlish quaver at the edge of tears.
sometimes the narrator and i speak as one:
it sucks getting old.
the narrator and i, we hang on hard truths, and speaking is fraught.
when listening, we are a happy union of two fading ears,
and all of this a roundabout way to share the delight of hearing aids arriving five days ahead of schedule.