Concentrate

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.
Imagine if you will a tournament.
The teams are ready.  It will be a war.
The bets are placed. The whistle blows.  Ennui!
The players can’t be bothered to show up.
I’m trying really hard to stay awake,
to listen, but the voice is monotone.
My eyes betray me. They are open, just,
and curious I watch the room dissolve
and right and left are watching different things.
I think it’s time I got a hearing aide.
I barely hear the speaker, but I hear
some people laughing in another room.
Monstrous. Monstrous. The train
is slowing down. It’s slowing, slowing down.
I wish to God that it would stop. But no.
The wheels keep turning. Did I hear that right?
The Paragon of Freon ate the moon?
That can’t be right. I have to concentrate
on what is being said. To con    cen          tra . . . .

 

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