I don’t mean to bother you,
so I try to speak in a whisper.
What I mean is,
if you’d care to listen,
I don’t see the need to raise my voice.
That’s for others
who do it better.
I don’t mind
that I’m undernourished,
like a child you forgot at the shop.
I’ve grown used to not being noticed.
In fact, I could even say
I quite like it now.
I do wish, sometimes, that I had more space,
but I have no say in the matter.
Whenever I do make noise,
I spasm with the spin of laundry.
It gives me headaches, of course,
but I’m happy to be involved.
And let me share something with you:
it’s actually quite funny
how perplexed men become
when a bulb they were sure was new
rattles softly to admit
it’s now of no use.
If I had a human name,
you might call me Frank,
wincing as the dog gets in
or when a pair of sweaty runners
are set down in the corner.
I put up with it,
as I hate to complain,
and please believe me when I tell you,
I’ll never take up
much of your time.
Trevor Conway writes mainly poems, stories and songs. Subjects he typically writes about include nature, sport, society, creativity and interesting moments. His first collection of poems, Evidence of Freewheeling, was published by Salmon Poetry in 2015; his second, Breeding Monsters, was self-published via Amazon in 2018. Website: trevorconway.weebly.com.