The Thing to Do

I picked up the paper. It was the thing to do. Our smiles repeat to each other our love. I am in the language lab. Voices repeat phrases of a foreign language. This place perhaps is too defining. I look out the window: blue and green. The scene laughs in its trees; I remember a certain phrase of mind like sunlight out the concrete window: I was happy. I sit up straight. She has promised to come back. Oh, the sounds are human all right; I can understand their reason, if not their purpose, their promise. I wonder if there’s time to read the paper; I want to prepare a voice to meet the sounds I hear. I place the headphones on my head, and read the things to do.

October 1972