A Jury of One's Peers

The dour occupants of office chairs can click their tongues.
It is what they are wont to do. They act as if they're reading
Things. In fact, they strain to hear. They slyly peek when
They think no one sees. Their lives, unwatered, empty
Deserts, leach them of their hopes, and then refill them
With the dark belief that those who can rekindle theirs
Do so by doing wrong. This is why they click at us.
“They're married. How they carry on. It isn't right.
They ought to be ashamed.” But we are not. The joy
We feel when we're together, love, whatever, grew up
Unexpected. It's delivered us from deserts, thrown
Us from our chairs, and set us, as a pair, apart. I do
Not mind. I'll soon be down the hallway to your
Office after kindled hopes and conversation. You may
Have to shout so I can hear you over clicking tongues.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 41 times
Written on 2010-02-24 at 16:30

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