Now it's the quiet
pedestrians who are becoming the odd ones.
But just a few years ago,
those who audibly dialogued with themselves
or screamed at phantoms
or literally laughed out loud at their own jokes
were given wide berth on city streets
by the silent multitude of passersby.
But change has charged the air
with electric oscillations
plugging into ever more
breast pockets and pocketbooks.
Loneliness is being shouted down
by cell phone cacophony.
The world grows noisier.
Today, the mumbling majority walk the streets in supposed
So now it's the silent ones
who haunt the sidewalks,
the odd wanderers who need no phones,
those to whom no one wants to listen,
those who have no one to listen to,
the disconnected, the never connected,
the brotherhood of the ignored,
the sisterhood of the shunned,
the figurative deaf mutes who travel
beyond all the service
those isolated circuits,
those shaggy frayed dead wires
dangling off the network of the modern world.
If you've any comments on
this poem, Richard Fein would be pleased to
hear from you.