Upstairs the rude boy
plugs in his electric guitar
Disturbs my peace for hours
Threatens me when I complain
Thinks he is full of talent
the world will beat a path to . . .
I listen for as long as I must
Slap headphones on my ears
so I can write,
even through his noise
Content myself that talent
is most assuredly NOT what he is full of . . .
Say silently, through the ceiling,
“It would be wise for you
to retain your current employment . . .”
© Donna Hébert, 4/18/10, all rights reserved