Overheard

I'm curious and fascinated by the lives of others.  What's your story? I always wonder.

As a reporter, my vocation provided the ideal excuse to probe for answers. These days, however, I ask less and listen more. When out to dinner, for example, I almost always listen to the conversation at the next table. I don't crane to hear. My nosiness comes naturally.

Lately, I have put my overactive listening skills to use. By gathering the lines of others and making them my own, I am creating overheard poems.


Happy Hour, Happy Birthday

— overheard at the Embarcadero Lounge

I got my AARP card in the mail.
I don’t need that.
I went to Portland to drown my sorrows.

Thank God, there’s always hair coloring.
I don’t know what happened to my boobs.
I don’t have boobs anymore.

It’s a minus tide.

 
How about you? It's your turn to show and tell. What's in your ear? On your page?