Ennui. It sounds like something you might hear
a waiter say when asked about the cost
of dinner at his chi chi restaurant
or at a fencing match when crossing swords.
Ennui! Ennui’s the perfect word indeed.
I’m trying really hard to concentrate,
to listen, but the speaker drones. His voice
is so monotonous; a metronome
afraid it might disturb the audience.
My eyes betray me. They are open, just,
and curious I watch the room dissolve
and right and left are watching different things.
I barely hear the speaker. What is that?
A steel monstrosity is slowing down?
A still monstrosity has turning heels?
There’s monsters in the craters of the moon?
The Paragon of Freon ate the moon?
That can’t be right. I have to concentrate.
I have to con cen tra . . . .