‘The Monloguer’ logs his monosyllabic syllables
into captive audiences’ eardrums.
You can’t get a word in edgeways,
straightways, sideways, backwards, during, after or before.
It’s his role in life- to peruse the ear,
to filter, caress, batter, penetrate until you can no longer hear!
Until his words lose all meaning.
And then he steps up a gear….
Men get up mid flow- go to shower.
Stay there an hour-come back
and he’s still at it
in a perpetual, torrential torment of the tongue.
The art of the conversation is dead and gone!
Long live the monologue!
‘Uh uh…. Yeah.
Oh really?
I see, ok, yep, that’s good.
That must have been…’
Cuts you off mid-sentence-
he’s not finished yet!
He’s getting to the part in his life story
where he’s reeling of regrets…
‘I never told her that I loved her
then she died in an explosion’
‘Oh really?’ I retort,
‘Are you sure it wasn’t a case of
traumatic audio erosion?’
Yes I know you’re lonely
and yes I know you’re sad
but fifteen minutes in your company
makes me feel as bad
I wish for you the best
in whatever you may do
but give your mouth a rest
and give my ears one too.
You are a world record holder
for wasted words within a minute
and with the minutes that you while away
the clock tick tocks on to another day.
I’ve aged about a decade since you began,
lost weight around the waist-
became an absurdist stranger
disconnected from the human race.
But I see a way back….
My teeth and tongue have made a pact,
a gentleman’s agreement that
if they ever get used again
they’ll go on the attack
They’ll make up for lost time
in a Warsaw-esque agreement-
it’ll be a verbal blitzkrieg
with no searching for appeasement.
I’ll dominate proceedings,
dictate every conversation
like American foreign policy
regarding every other nation.
I’ll become ‘The Monloguer 2.0’
the return of the King
take over his mantle
and enter in!
thefrontliein 