The following is a very rough draft of a poem drawn directly from life. I went into a cafe in a nearby town today, trying to write, but…

The Voice

The café should be
perfect, except for
the owner’s voice,
drilling into the peace;
everyone else a mellow
murmur but she
is shouting between tables
and I cannot close
my ears, I only want
a moment to breathe
between the bits of busyness
that so often prod me

I just want
her
to stop

The instant she begins
her coffee shop clarion call
I am jarred
into a new exhaustion,
undesired, perhaps I am
selfish to resent
her enthusiasm –
I like enthusiasm! –
I just wish it was not
quite so loud

I am relieved
when
she stops

suddenly,
while she is busy
unpacking boxes
she begins to sing
‘somewhere beyond the sea’
and the place is
transformed and I wish
that she would always
sing, because her voice
is extraordinarily
beautiful

I am disappointed
when
she stops

Looks like I did write, after all…