2004/outloud

The young man
sitting across
from me
reads out loud,
now and then
schusing himself
to a whisper.
People are coping
with it.
Even I am,
there is so much other noise
to tune out,
the screaming
kids of summer.
Spoiled and demanding.
Only the man
whose job it is
to sit with the
loud reader is
troubled,
a well-dressed Indian
man,
who seems employed
beneath his station.
I want to strike up
a conversation
but don’t manage
to in time.
I’m sad for him,
without knowing why,
only that the reason
lies in my
own life.

7/14/04