A new poem by Jack Hannan

The sound of turtles

I can’t tell if people are talking to themselves anymore
or is there some sort of little apparatus
attached to their bodies?
it’s not as interesting as it used to be
and that’s something I would change about the present,
are people crazy or are they just calling home?
The examples are everywhere
they are slivers
beautiful and as thin as splinters in the skin of the timely world
who would say these things are unbelievable
when of course it’s all true
but you should try not to act so astonished all the time
or just keep it to yourself,
it’s like there’s something wrong with you,
it’s true the small reasons for wonder can seem boundless
but it makes you look like an idiot
and I’m telling you
they can shut you down just like that.
Let the man who falls asleep on the bus tumble onto the floor
and all those around him laugh but they are also shocked and concerned
and help him to his feet
sheepish and groggy still
it’s a long day he’s had
they give him a seat in a corner
where he can lean over safely
but they’re still laughing, even as they pay off the bets