Careful Not To Sing

I wish I could sing; I can,
but the coffee shop patrons
can't roll up their windows in here.

I want to release this trill,
the locked and hardened harmony,
spill notes from behind
the Frappachino paper cup.

Gagged by the invisible glove
of societal oppression, I don't know
where the lyric should begin.
Nobody stands on street corners
where I live, no song or rhyme.

Building, swelling fears restrict
hearts in these cage-like chests,
clutching overpriced caffienated wonder,
careful not to spill a drop,
lest we force someone to bring a mop.
They don't want to clean up after me.

I wish I could sing, and I can,
but this coffee shop needs quiet,
so we can all forget we're wasting time here.

© Copyright 2009 Brian Keith Compton (UN: bkcompton at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Brian Keith Compton has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.