The Chronicles of a Phonophobic

**For Ruben O, My little Bro** (This poem was written and a recording made for the contest sponsored by Team Poetrysoup which was deleted before it was judged. I wonder if this would have received a placement?) Alarming, how analog clocks can tock back, sound-off each morning like those hungover barflies at the laundromat who dive-bomb buzzing dryers as bleached belles in heels attack threadbare tiles with a stomach-turning, M60 click clack, click clack. All night cafes fare no better, terrify with their red-eyed twit-ter- to-woo owls, their jingle-jangle spoons. Heartlessly, the freaky knock-knock joke of a barista smacks-down the expresso machine — grounds for a massacre behind the counter. The plink-plunk of rainfall deafens. Birthdays send you into a panic. Too risky, the onslaught of jubilation, the grenades that wait in overblown balloons. New Year’s Eve brings histrionics. Nightmarish, the yellow chimeras of construction and every screaming chick-a-dee-dee-dee... Ear plugs are a given. Heaven is a soundproof room. Even that plan holds more than a hiccup or two. Horror resounds everywhere. Babies thunder by in hot-rod strollers. Frightening: the gurgles, giggles, ear-splitting rattles. In the nursing home, an awful rasp of life roars behind a tissue-thin curtain, the horrendous lisp of oxygen, so deathly loud.