Beantown Bar
It happened at a Beantown bar.
All the words I wanted to say
were said. I had simply run out–
the fricative hiss
of an empty keg.
I was shocked it came so soon.
I sensed my words were ending,
but thought they would fail slowly–
like dementia,
not a heart attack.
I’m now a mute. My vocal cords
and arcuate fasciculus, severed.
All that emerges now
is fricative silence–yet more profound
than all I’ve said before.
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