My Mother And Father Are Losing Their Hearing

“What?” she’ll say.

“Huh?” he’ll reply.

“Who?” she’ll say.

“Not, ‘Why,’ ‘Huh?’” he’ll say.

This will go on for awhile at which point she’ll ask him something which I assume he hears as, “What are you writing?”

“A poem,” he’ll shout.

And ten minutes later, she’ll bring him a glass of milk and a lunch plate with a sprig of watercress and a sheet of paper on it that reads, “Roses are red, baby.”