November verse 2: Overheard

So much happening just now, but I’ve managed to make time for my second November stanza. I don’t have an over-arching theme or strategy this year, so who knows what I’ll end up with.

I’m doing a poetry course currently where we have been invited to eavesdrop shamelessly in cafes, on buses, wherever. Dutifully I put in my hearing aids and tried unsuccessfully to hear a number of conversations, and then hit gold with a young man telling this story to an older man, possibly a co-worker in his new place of employment. To give the speaker his due, he did lower his voice a little for his story’s key word. My asterisks aim to be a visual equivalent.

November verse 2: Overheard

The night’s already far too busy –
too much work, I’m there till two.
A manager gets in a tizzy:
‘Chairs need moving, now, by you.’
That’s two of us and forty heavy
chairs up stairs, looks like I’ll never
make it home, I’m in despair
and jokingly – she’s sitting there –
I say, ‘You fat c**t, move a muscle.’
Just a joke. Amused, she ain’t.
She makes a serious complaint.
Snowflake, woke shit razzle dazzle,
just a dreadful passing row.  
A good man, me. It's over now.