I am amongst a frantic
silent
period

Everyone is busy
with numbers in their head
a pen gripped firm, where all the magic begins

Scribbling down notes
a tangled mess of formulae
buttons of assistance…the
calculator, what would they do
without them?

Nor do I question the purpose of time
the economy
it all makes us whine

Ah, forget it
I am amongst a frantic
silent period

this poem to pass time
this “poet”,
failing another grind