Sunday, August 29, 2010

what we call a wage slave

the coffee shop
is a Mac lab today -
slow, silent and dull
and the musician who plays
in the corner, for tips
and free tea
sounds like a terrible
Cash knock-off, and i wish
h wouldn't play at all.
i am enjoying the quiet,
slow nature of a rainy evening
building creaking in the humidity
settling damp timbers into
the foundation, as the hum
of the a/c dries out
damp clothing,
makes me shiver.
i should be able to hear
all of this -
people restless in their chairs,
muffled feet on the floor -
instead, i am trying to discern
the difference in each
song played - so far, all
in 4/4. so far, the same key
i'm no guitarist,
but even i know the difference
between talent
and mediocrity.

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