I could always recognize
the echoing ring of your voice
across a hollow auditorium.
To me, everyone else mumbled.

Forcing my knees flat to kneel
on a squealing folding chair
hoping for a peek at you
slyly persuading an opponent
that the Earth was flat.
You vanished from the stage
and I furiously plunked back down
and returned to studying my sneakers.

When you left for college
I pouted, sullen on the sofa
waiting for you
to roar up the driveway
in your car once more.
The house was a silent morgue,
empty of politics and debating
and all the noisy chatter you
stole from us when
you disappeared.