SPEECH LESS
(for B. B.)

the page looked
at me
blankly

the words
gathered
inside my head

but refused
to come
out

'Sorry mate...
we're on
strike! '

'But why...? '
I cried.
"Why!"

'Do we have to
spell it out
for you? '

'Write...write...write! '
'That's all
you do! '

'You 'ave us up
all ****** night
it just ain't right! '

'No...I...don't! '
I lied...
blatantly

'Oh...who was that
sentence I saw you
with last night? '

'That was no sentence...
that was
my haiku! '

'And those
poor vowels
...the howls! '

'Look, mate...
we're consonants
so we can take it

but
...a vowel's
a vowel! '

'Now, it's just our luck
that we've gone & got
ourselves an Irish poet

who is prone
to a little
internal vowel rhyme! '

'Assonance! '
I said.
'Bless you Guv but

I don't cares wot
you'se call it! '
all we hear

all night long is
O...E...
I...U! '

and with
that
they left

the whole ****** alphabet
abseiling out of my head
marching down my forearm

the whole ****** platoon
now on my patella
now turning at the door

saying: 'See ya fella!
Call yourself.. a ****** poet! '
they jeered

we're off to
Bryan Baker's head!
Now...there's a poet!'

slam!
the door was silent
they were gone

I was...
...I was
...speech-less!