WHISPERING TO THE PAGE

It was a standing-room-only concert.

I buffaloed my way in on shaky press credentials

so I felt obliged to write something, anything—

though I had no place in mind to publish.

As I was free-writing, following flights of fancy, 

hoping to glean some interesting lines,

an old man sitting in the last row complained—

He could hear my pen whispering to the page. 

I was amazed by his acute hearing.

We were both rather irritated. I felt thwarted.

But I liked the unexpected metaphor.

10/15/13