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.

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 . . . .

 

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