Tag: ninety nine

She wasn’t listening when he asked her if she would like a cup of tea.
She wasn’t listening when that girl called her a nasty name at the back of the hall.
She wasn’t listening when the postman knocked, nor when the doorbell rang.
She wasn’t listening when the bells rang out, ushering in that sparkly new year that only would end up being horrible.

She wasn’t listening when her son sang about his toes in the sand.
She wasn’t listening to the radio when they played her favourite tune.
She wasn’t listening when the bird hit the window.

She wasn’t listening when the cat purred as he rubbed his nose against her unshaven leg.
She wasn’t listening when they asked her to the dance.
She wasn’t listening when they left, either.

She wasn’t listening to the grass grow, for that’s a hobby reserved only for pixies and fairies.
She wasn’t listening when the fairies tinkled their tiny little bells.

She wasn’t listening when he opened the cupboard, took out his shoes and left a shelf bare.
She wasn’t listening when the doorbell stopped ringing.
She wasn’t listening when the marching band fell out of step, and the instruments wailed out of tune.

She wasn’t listening when the hinge fell off and the door swung open, revealing all the little fixes she hadn’t bothered to attend to.

She wasn’t listening at the moment he said hello.
She wasn’t listening when he said goodbye.
She wasn’t listening all of the ninety nine times she looked like she was.

And now, she won’t listen at all.

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This post is part of a collaborative blogging process we like to call Tandemonium. Each week, 9 writers craft a piece in accordance with a specific title that’s secretly distributed to us. Without sight of each other’s work beforehand, everyone hits publish at 7pm, every Wednesday. You can catch up with the other participating writers here: