The Loudest Sound Of All

The Thirty-One Days of Poetry (2013 Edition)

Day - the Sixth

The Loudest Sound Of All

Cynthia sat stock-still in the swarming sports-bar, 
alone in a sea of humanity, conversations coursing, 
glasses clinking, and close to bedlam as the law 
allows without devolving into total anarchy, 
and sometimes a close thing at that. 

In odd counterpoitnt, surrounding the cacophanous 
patrons were TVs; giant, medium, small; two, three, 
ten; on every wall. Around the crowd flickered the 
soft warm glow of playoff basketball, pitching duels, 
and peculiarly, even cricket on one of the leviathan screens. 
All of them silent sentinels, as if their muted state were 
their own private commentary on the near-riot of people. 

Cynthia sat silently herself, a sentry waiting. 
She sipped her periodically-refilled ice tea and 
sometimes chewed her lower lip but otherwise 
betrayed no emotion outwardly. Inside was a
different story. She waited for him to arrive, 
hoping he was nice and kind, maybe even cute.
Scared she would not like him, more scared 
that she might. Even more scared that 
he would not like her. Most scared that he would. 

The loudest sound of all is the crush of silence
that surrounds the endless waiting on Life 
to turn the page.

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I wonder if the TVs watch us

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