A room full of people talking like runaway <br />trains that won’t ever stop. <br />No sun or moon rises or sets for the room— <br />no day or night, no seasons. <br />No one eats or drinks. <br /> <br />They talk in twos or small groups <br />on the sofas, on chairs, on the floor. <br />Voices rise and mingle. <br />Words dance in the air like cigarette smoke <br />with words from adjoining conversations. <br />The room has become a container of pure sound, <br />the residue of exchanged thoughts deposited into brains. <br /> <br />An introvert comes into the room. <br />The door behind him closes and locks. <br />The talkers are locked into one another’s eyes— <br />a room full of people talking and nowhere to go. <br /> <br />He stands against the corner of a wall. <br />He tries to <i>become</i> the corner, <br />feels naked and starts to sweat. <br />He tries to look like part of one of the groups. <br />It’s obvious he isn’t. <br /> <br />He could sit down somewhere and listen, <br />that’s how you start, maybe, <br />but the people have been talking for an hour. <br />They’re like bullet trains moving fast, each group is a train. <br /> <br />He stands there and contemplates the alchemy <br />of conversation, connection and energy.<br /><br />Max Reif<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-room-full-of-people-talking/
