Sounds

Surrounded by

sounds of a Tuesday.

Outside

a mower rattles

across a corner of concrete

bringing control

to the ever disturbing grass

that threatens civility.

Inside

the air conditioning

keeps the Iowa heat and humidity

at bay,

and we mustn't have anything

out of the bay.

A pleasant Bach Sarabande

tries so desperately to compete

with all this machinery,

as a squeak

from a challenged office chair

complains the words aren't flowing

fast enough to satisfy it.

Perhaps these sounds

are all critics:

“You'll never be loud

enough to quell a mower!”

“Your mind won't be cool

if you argue

with your air conditioner!”

“Dichter sind die lauteste Publikum!”

screams Herr Bach

from his peaceful tomb.

And finally from my office chair,

“You're fat!”

Barry G. Wick