2010/08/18 Squalls Poem by Margaret Alice

Squalls of noise as the voices rise and fall
because the administrative personnel are
the only people with rights on earth, singing
at the top of their voice, discussing whatever
appears in their eyes, replying with eh’s and
ah’s and other guttural and nasal sounds
designed to keep the conversation flowing
even when they have nothing to say

Translators, idiots one and all, are interlopers
subject to their whims, listening while reading
illegible texts that refuse to acquire meaning –
since we have to keep ourselves happy I keep
silent while wondering what could possibly have
possessed anyone to put administration and
production together in one big space without
walls for privacy and reflection

But even the squalls die down eventually, pity
the happiness factor within me does not react
favourably as much as I wish it…