A Language of One
He uttered
tainted ellipses,
guttural sounds
empty of syllable
so his words
were other than
I had ever heard.
His yaw, jive and
garble mimicked,
it seemed,
a marred parrot.
Seated in the back
corner of the
subway car, he
was in continuous
self-rejoinder,
chortling,
purling, braying.
Everyone else
out of it.
We locked glances
as though at any
moment, madness
might commit fury
and send us
running for our lives.
But the man
paid scant attention
to us as he followed
the thread of his
conversation,
come 2nd Avenue,
out of the car.
Allen C. Fischer, former director of marketing for a nationwide corporation, brings to poetry a background in business. His poems have appeared in Atlanta Review, Indiana Review, The Laurel Review, Poetry, Prairie Schooner, River Styx, and Rattle.
qarrtsiluni 