Not That You Asked

I don’t have much to say, although
I mostly say it even so.
It isn’t that I like my voice,
And not that I don’t have a choice
Of whether I should speak or not,
It’s just I tend to talk a lot.
A room in which I sit goes quiet
Almost never. Don’t know why it
Happens, but had I been there
In Sound of Music–that scene where
They’re hiding from the Nazis?–we
Would not have earwormed Do, Re, Mi.
I don’t expect I’ll ever see a
Reason for my logorrhea.
Life’s the stage, my voice the dancer.
Unsolicited, I’ll answer.
Mics in my broadcasting booth
Are always open, and in truth
It doesn’t matter who can hear:
My fallen trees don’t need an ear
To validate their loud collapse.
While other people’s mouths are “traps”
That metaphor does not apply
At all to mine. I don’t know why.


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