A Listening Ear
You think I’m a good listener don’t you? You come to see me often and while I’m getting on with my work you blurt it all out. Perhaps it’s because you visit me regularly and feel like you know me.
You think we’re on the verge of a fabulous friendship don’t you? Well in a few cases it has happened, but most of the time it’s just a job to me.
You walk in here with your, “Poppy did this at school,” and I smile as I sound enthusiastic. You tell me all about the award winning vegetables that your neighbour grew. Do I care? Hell, no. But I put on my soothing voice as I express an interest.
Then there was the time you visited for two hours. You said, “My husband’s away on business”. But your eyes said it all. You knew he wasn’t, didn’t you?
The following visit you spat “I can’t believe he went for the stereotype; his secretary for fuck’s sake!”
‘More like a fuck for the sake of it,’ I thought, but I offered you my listening ear.
I listen to you, and it’s not only you. Others visit through the day and they treat me like a counsellor. Affairs, illnesses, engagements, separations, deaths, and visits to the goddamned vet. I hear it all.
You think I’m a good listener. I am. I never forget a word.
And one day, I may surprise you.