#poem #poetry #sketchbook a

the smattered conversation of squelching feet in ventilated air 

- low rumbling fans puff steam onto sealed windows -somewhere further down a cry escapes an opened door
'Mrs Watson' is the name you think you hear -
then the seal sighs shut and all is squelching feet again -
turning fans and turning labeled corners
turning five years into a single grasped at meeting -
clinging is a word you later use - use often -
use too much beyond it's sense - clinging -
like an actor who has lost interest in the lines -
still the audiences come to the nightly passion
and marvel at the intensity of the pathos - but you know -
know that secret to which you guilty cling
where once you drew on humanity to provoke tears
now all is changed - in tea cups - in the effort of concentration
to remain in the scene and not watch the stagehands -
the tubes to ventilate the ventilated air coiled and stowed -
and occasionally a robin at the window
- who cannot pierce the glass with song -