When she said, "Ya wanna see a movie?" 
I heard Giovanna, she's improving!
and wondered who it was she meant. 

Or had I nodded Yes-dear to one more story  
about a friend from work who'd caught the flu? 
I touched my ear. No hearing aids? Tried to picture them 
snuggled like fat commas on some bookshelf.

Or could it be Giovanna's grasp of English 
that was getting better? This, I grokked; 
each new day, my native tongue grows richer   
thanks to wild creative surges rolling 
through my aging ears unaided. 

She was waiting for my answer. 
I watched her expression set, 
like the skin that films cooling milk. 
Would I get it, or have to ask for a repeat? 
"Moonlight's playing at the local," 
she said, in a louder, hopeful tone. 

It sounded like Tonight's fraying at the vocal. 
Was that a crack about my deafness? 
Out the window, wan winter daylight  
sketched a vision: Giovanna, in a deep red gown,  
walking through the pasta groves at dusk. 
Grateful to be doing better, 
she'd have more patience with an aging guy 
who only wanted to be understood. 


Published in Marin Poetry Center Anthology 2017