Gen A Room Of Smoke Poem by Mill Field

A room of smoke, non-inflammable music and inconsequential chatter;
A room of food, drink and light snacks;
A room of the brittle, the mundane and the hearty;
A room of men and women gaily attired,
Each inviolate in his or her own secret isolation.

Birds in a barn-yard,
They peck and clutch at straws of drifting conversation,
Seeming not to see the golden grains which lie in heaps around them;
Content to live miserably and thin.
What means this present to their yesterdays or their tomorrows?