Muted

The larynx, which  looks
somewhat like an alien

If I were a robot and forgot
to get recharged
I might feel as I do now, laying
('scuse me, lying)
on the couch without
a fever but sans voice, mais oui!
Vox popuLEE
is not the issue,
only vox of me.
(If you prefer vox popuLY
then my concern's the vox of I,
offensive to my ears and
anal nature when we're talking
about words. Interruption with
absurd idea: Perhaps we have a hidden
spot within that God can push
to turn us off. Mute us,
momentarily, for higher purpose
yet unknown. More probable,
a simple blend of common cold
and strain from talking too much,
too loud over chatty children
as I taught this week. Squeaking,
barely speaking, voice
must rest. I guess my body
thinks it needs to catch a wink
as well. No question that I'm overthinking
now. Perhaps my brain's the thing
that needs a brief vacation.


(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013