Kettle Steaming
Posted: September 10th, 2015, 9:26 am
I fear I'm hot air,
not the pregnant pause between thoughts,
but the empty stall.
I'm a kettle whistling,
screeching its little steam
that has no engine to move down the tracks.
I'm a cyclist on a stationary bike,
legs too long, knees too thick,
a teenager on a trike.
O pontificate, pontificate,
never, never ever keeping quiet.
A riot of opinion I love public squares.
Even at home,
little Jack Horner sitting in his corner,
I'm loud with myself,
reiterating smug thoughts, political opinions,
more Mr. Birling in "An Inspector Calls"
than the awakened son.
No, I'm hot air Donald Trump
on the campaign stump
seriously impaired with my own self-importance.
Have I no shame ?
Can you blame me for waking up babies
and annoying the hell out of an afternoon nap ?
Am I am not a computer ?
But you can't mute me
unless you close the door,
walk down the hall,
walk out into the traffic roar.
Such a bore mirrored in his own thoughts
ought to listen.
There are other kettles steaming,
and there are quiet people dreaming,
and all seems okay
if you let it be.
"I just want to be me"
I sing.
"Shut up !"
I'm put in my place.
An unhappy face facing facts.
not the pregnant pause between thoughts,
but the empty stall.
I'm a kettle whistling,
screeching its little steam
that has no engine to move down the tracks.
I'm a cyclist on a stationary bike,
legs too long, knees too thick,
a teenager on a trike.
O pontificate, pontificate,
never, never ever keeping quiet.
A riot of opinion I love public squares.
Even at home,
little Jack Horner sitting in his corner,
I'm loud with myself,
reiterating smug thoughts, political opinions,
more Mr. Birling in "An Inspector Calls"
than the awakened son.
No, I'm hot air Donald Trump
on the campaign stump
seriously impaired with my own self-importance.
Have I no shame ?
Can you blame me for waking up babies
and annoying the hell out of an afternoon nap ?
Am I am not a computer ?
But you can't mute me
unless you close the door,
walk down the hall,
walk out into the traffic roar.
Such a bore mirrored in his own thoughts
ought to listen.
There are other kettles steaming,
and there are quiet people dreaming,
and all seems okay
if you let it be.
"I just want to be me"
I sing.
"Shut up !"
I'm put in my place.
An unhappy face facing facts.
