He is pacing the cafeteria,
not like an animal, more an actor,
forced voice rising, as if changing a gear,
each time that he turns and strides quickly back
before he turns again, the words climbing.
Slowly, but getting quicker, he's taking
more of shared ground under his influence.
"Excuse me," says a voice somewhere below.
He locates the source of interruption
and mimes a query. "Would you mind going away?
and perhaps talking more quietly even so?"
It makes no sense. He does not understand.
To make this clear, he says: 'I'm on the phone.'
"I understand," the sound explains,"but I
am not on the phone and do not want to be."
It is utterly ridiculous.
'It's a free country,' he shouts at a squeak,
the little one at the bottom of space.
"It is not," that voice says from far away,
"as you are proving. Please do not make me
kill you. I suppose you have some purpose."
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