“I am … I am … I am, and I sooo am!”
The man kept talking, and talking,
filling the air with his junk diatribe
until the oxygen felt nauseous,
actually, the entire sky looked so pale
that I felt responsible for envisioning a less painful escape.
“Do you know who I am?”, I checked the verb.
“You? Humour me, why you? Can you see the birds flying?”
“I can hear your mind crying.”
“Crying? The nerve of you!”
“Crying out loud. Enough!”
“Do you mind if I laugh?”
“You’re still just a half.”
“Whatever! So, who are you?”
“The world without you.
And I’m doing good …”