We love the café because everyone listens to us.
Only we, we don’t listen to each other.
I chatter about the brother
who won’t care for the homestead
only so that the middle-aged women at a neaby table who
are not listening to how each other rates the sculptures
in the recent ICA show can silently sympathize with
the bind I’m in.
The knee-length dress wearer at the other table with a
turquoise necklace thinks that the large white assemblage
was positioned too centrally, upstaging the more
accomplished bronze abstracts at the sides.
The woman next to her in pants and a carmine blouse believes the artist
went commercial in the 80s and cut corners in her later work.
My friend never met my brother and doesn’t understand why I
worry about the homestead.
The waitress has heard us all and hopes someday she can occupy a
café table and judge the world.
Andy Oram
June 23, 2026