Cone of Silence
Thee City sings its urban songs,
horn honking, traffic sounds.
Busy noises ring through the day
with tempo picking up
and dropping.
Cocooned into a car, the sounds
are dulled
for conversational background.
I struggle to hear
and understand
in a language not my own.
I strain to find a word I know.
I listen with more intensity,
clearly that repeated phrase
must mean, “I think that.”
Peso, I know and try to tie
that to some meaning.
The conversational sound,
becomes faster and
I am completely lost.
Then I no longer hear the sounds
of the city
nor the sounds of language.
Meaning depravation dropped a cone of silence
over my head freeing me of
place and time responsibility.
I drifted over boundaries of
road and city and into the magic
castles built in my head.
Soaring hawks invite me to join their
circling quest
as silent as my cone
I looked at the passing new land as
if I will soon have to try to
recreate it in a great diorama,
The cone of silence was rudely broken
by intrusive English,
and the magic Cone of Silence was broken.
I was alone in my Cone of Silence
left out by language
now back to distressing frenzy,
I must remember where I left all that peace.