You'll Never Hear the Sound

PICTURE A BOY WITH ME, IN IOWA,

ABOUT FIVE YEARS AGO;

WORKS AT THE FAM’LY GROC’RY STORE,

AND THAT’S THE STATUS QUO.

HE WENT TO COLLEGE FOR PIANO,

BUT HE GAVE UP ‘CAUSE HE COULDN’T PLAY.

HE LASTED A YEAR AT HOME,

BUT THEN JUST LIKE THAT DROVE AWAY.

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PICTURE ME STANDING IN GRAND CENTRAL

BY THE INFORMATION CLOCK.

THIS HAUNTED BOY FROM IOWA

WALKS UP AND STARTS TO TALK.

HE HAD JUST MOVED HERE, AND HE TOLD ME

ALL HE’D GONE THROUGH BEFORE COMING HERE.

HE ASKED ME FOR TWENTY BUCKS FOR LUNCH

THEN HE LEANED IN AND WHISPERED IN MY EAR:

“YOU’LL NEVER HEAR THE SOUND OF THE CROWD

OR THE TRAINS OR THE WIND OR THE CITY

IF YOU LISTEN TO ME.”

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PICTURE US WALKING FOR A BLOCK OR TWO

TO LAND IN BRYANT PARK.

WE OCCUPY A BENCH AND TALK

UNTIL IT STARTS TO GET TOO DARK.

HE ASKS AGAIN ABOUT THE MONEY,

AND I GIVE IN LIKE I HAVE NO CHOICE.

WE PROMISE TO MEET UP IN A WEEK,

BUT WHEN HE DOESN’T SHOW, I HEAR HIS VOICE:

“YOU’LL NEVER HEAR THE SOUND OF THE CROWD

OR THE TRAINS OR THE WIND OR THE CITY

IF YOU LISTEN TO ME.”

FOUR HOURS WITH A STRANGER ON A SATURDAY.

I WONDER WHERE HE WENT SOME TIMES,

BUT THAT THOUGHT FADES AWAY.

I’LL NEVER KNOW NOW.

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PICTURE LAST WEEKEND IN THE SUPERMARKET

WITH MY HUSBAND, ROY.

A TAP ON MY LEFT SHOULDER,

AND I TURN AND SEE THE BOY.

“WE’RE IN A GROC’RY STORE, GO FIGURE,”

AND WE BOTH LAUGH AT THE IRONY.