Marvin’s Voice

Photo by Osman Rana on Unsplash

Listening to Marvin Gaye is sanity in a Sumatra squall.

If I scroll through the news, all I read is a death lament

And fifty five ways on how the world is going to end

Before the next para tells me about wine-tasting in South Bend.

(Editing, like the hour after 3 a.m., has lost all meaning)

This, the absurdity of our collective vanity,

Is our echo hall.

Marvin runs endlessly on the phone and asks the question

From back then, when he filled my car as it took every bend.

My friend, I long to be at that cafe, too, at the same time

If only to see the water cling to the glass before sliding off

Onto the grass between the wall and the sidewalk like I am

Holding on to your voice to tell me it’s not over,

Not yet, not now, not at all.