Filter

I’m getting a filter installed in my head.

The plumber wasn’t convinced:

“Why d’you be wanting that love?”

I told him I had to try and

Stop the overspill of useless

Crap offending the air near

My mouth. He looked surprised.

“Right you are, miss.”

“When’s it due?” my friends asked

Hopeful, nervous, what would happen

When the reliable talks-to-a-brick-

Anything one stops the sewage

In the pipe, crams it back up there

And tries to let Something Good

Through the mesh and make it

To the world. To your ears.

There will be a lot more

Silence. Which is welcome

For me. I annoy myself.

“Today. I can’t wait,” I said.

Looking forward, excited, though

Dubious about my upcoming

Lack of spontaneity, my clamming

Up.  What if – nothing comes?

The filter has too high standards

The settings are fixed too strong

And I – I – I – can’t talk? I have

Completely and utterly

Nothing to say? But promise

Outweighs fear (for once)

And the plumber arrives (late).

Here we go. Wish me luck.

I’ll see you when I think

Original thoughts, say

Wonderful things. But

Predominantely, probably,

Be mute.