The bells in the church towers
are all set to different songs
for different gods and different
people who believe them.
For everyone else there
isn’t anything specific left to listen
for and they all just blend together
out of key and out of step with
She paints her eyelids and I lace
up both my shoes, just for the fun
of it, and we sit around just flipping
through the channels.
I look at pictures of her friends
on her phone that she holds
up to my eyes and can’t disguise
my lack of interest in the subject.
I think about all the blank chalkboards
in the world and how naked they must
feel left alone in cold dark rooms overnight.
Only dressing as the teacher, or whoever,
puts their marks all over them, usually
in front of an audience.
Those poor things were built into a wall
of permanent performance and sometimes
the crowds didn’t always come, but that’s
a good thing in a way because who has
enough in them to meet the needs
of an infinity like that?