Hard to listen

At the instant your words reach my ears, inviting me to listen, the audible stream washes me from your side in a downpour, bound for the sewer of my brain. I struggle to hold on to the grate, to hear you through the chaos. Your voice fades to the background as a bubble encircles my head, fills with my own story of a time I felt exactly like you, which competes with a list of objections to your viewpoint and your tone, and is followed by a clear picture of what you should do next. Out of context, out of nowhere pops an inspiration for my next poem and the realization that you’re wearing new glasses. The cacophony ricochets from wall to wall, reduces your voice to a distant plea to be heard.