crayon / crown

i thought i was past all that, the shunt-eared idioglossia — lisping babble drowning calls for clarification and wet cheeked curses at the audiologists over-enunciated cra-yon, the high-pitched mocking of her half hidden dictaphone. admittedly, i thought a lot when i was three, crabapple fist raised against slow speaking doctors with straight backed ontologies. now, alternately prufrockian and panglossian (almost twenty-five), im deaf again: at work and in ms. korndhofers tiny tabled library — cotton eared and underlining intimate revolt. intersecting parallels in hyperbolic planes, a childs reborn rage; the realization that it was never me that couldnt hear. i put my headphones on with fret-calloused fingers, bigger now, and reach deep into tailored pants, feeling for black cats and a match to strike.