The Conversation

I'm sorry, I mumble
You say it makes me hard to understand
I think I'm in trouble
You say I make it difficult to lend a hand
You say a sentence like you

It sounds like a stranger now to me, though
I confuse its meaning with
An observation of my voice on the phone
Something about the vocal tone

Isolation, tied like a rope
I'm sobbing between the dial tones

An amazing syllable, playing
Buzzing on your cheeks
I feel good by your side
And alone

You talk about numbers and the noise of pickets
Then ask for details of the type of digit that
I give you numbers and then I suppose

You are in a room without a clock or at the time
That I hear the complete stop without curriculum
But I can't tell if it's on your side or mine

The hotel will serve breakfast soon
We appreciate your patience
This year I am going to make some changes