Not Hearing

It was the 60 Hz hum
of a light bulb, hanging
over your breakfast table, the nook
where you slice your grapefruit
and write in pen the answer
to 7 down.

It just hangs there, humming, lost
to the back of your head,
behind your eyes and red and gray stuff
where song lyrics and friends' birthdays linger
and wait to drip down
to the tip of your tongue.

I said goodbye, but it was lost
in the crowd, pilfered away by voices,
word by word, and stowed away in wool pockets;
another forgotten hum in your morning routine,
eating grapefruit and writing in pen the answer
to 9 across.