Underground announcer

‘aaaaaaAAAAAAAAA laaaAAAYYYDIES aND gentlLLeeeMEN

peeeeoPLE ovvvVVV aaaaaLLLL aaAAAYYYGEs,

thhhuuuuuUUUUU nexxxxXT tWENNNNTY seVVVeN toNNE vessssSELLL

ovvvVVV TFLLLLL gRRReATENESSSS is thhhuuuuuuUUUUUUUU…’

 

I missed three trains

to see if his delivery would change

 

but no, all effort remained

in a voice awakening

‘aaaaAANNDD hoWWW aRRE youuUUU

myyy beauuuuUTIFUl laaaayyYDY….

aaaaAANNNDD youuUUU kiNNND siRRR?

I wiSSHH yoUUU the bessTEST oF dayyYYYS —

gooooOOOOO wellllLLLL myyyyyyYYY frienDDS’

 

everyone who heard him laughed and smiled

started their own little conversation, propelled

by his intonation

 

enjoying the journey

for once,

 

not thinking of their destination

the terrorisme

 

so swift

to call ourselves victims

and fill our little boxed televisions

with hysteria and garish “crises”

 

consumed by our own voices —

useless, bickering noises

 

while somewhere foreign

the chaos and mess we left

is being endured

 

and truth, like a child

or a cry in the high tide

 

goes unheard

 

When will we see we

are the cause of all

 

our own traumas