Too weird for the normal websurfers, too normal for the weird websurfers

The Cacophony Shop

I bought the coffee and the scone.

I found the table, all alone.

Pulled out my journal, cover sewn,

And poised my pen at the top of page one.

Then a man to my right begins to moan

In loud conversation with his seeming clone.

Their spirited debate involves...cologne?

No doubt a strange coop from whence they've flown.

For this distraction I must atone

Yet they are unmoved by my mocking groan.

I cannot write, the past has shown,

With chatter incessant, yet on they drone.

Now a girl to my left shouts at her phone!

I shall not suffer this windbag crone.

Rude indifference I cannot condone;

I stare her down, my eyes aglown.

As planned, she sees me, my cover blown;

Unplanned, however, she raises her tone.

Certain her volume is intended, known,

I suddenly realize the seeds I've sown.

Inescapable blather fills this zone.

No choice now but that I postpone

The very beginning of my grand tome

About a horseman, his faithful roan,

And the unfriendly world into which they're thrown.

I’ve failed, alas, and sadly bemoan

The loss of my time, already on loan.

Opportunity gone, I think of home,

Of humble pie and an ice cream cone,

Of a bed of grass freshly mown,

Of feeling the warmth of the day’s sun shone.

But bliss interrupted by voice stern, lone:

“Get back to work,” a plea also my own.

Complete this essay that I must hone.

Swear off mistakes to which I'm prone;

Sit in this chair, not on my throne.

Mute as a mouse and still as a stone,

Mind my business, pick no bone.

Focus, instead, on finishing the po’m.

And finish it I shall, for I have grown!

by
J. Iaconis