John-Ward Leighton

SPEAKING IN TONGUES

Tongue loosened by alcohol
he cursed his way up the street
while all the averted eyes
tried to ignore him.

Curses,
his mouth shouted a
diarrhoea of four letter words
whose loudness was sure to offend.

The loud drum
that was the emptiness of his
soul
it was for him the bell would toll.

Face ugly with rage
it was his short time
his fifteen minutes on the stage
before oblivion had spent his dime.

His coat waving like a landing crow
his arms like pinwheels turning
and the flash point of his rage
into verbal flames wildly burning.

We never knew what triggered
this outburst of curses
and the wave subsided
into unintelligible whispered verses.

Then he disappeared into the white noise of the day
but then again it is always this way.
I turn up the gain on my iPod
and seek to dream the day away.