' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' Speech Less(For B. B.)

The page looked at me blankly. The words gathered inside my head but refused to come out. 'Sorry mate... we're on strike! ' 'But why...? ' I cried. 'Do I have to spell it out for you? ' 'Write...write...write! ' 'That's all you do! ' 'You 'ave us up all bloody night it just ain't right! ' 'No...I...don't! ' I lied...blantly. 'Oh...who was that scentence I saw you with last night? ' 'That was no sentence...that was my haiku! ' 'And those poor vowels ...the howls! ' 'Look, mate...we're consonants so we can take it but ...a vowel's a vowel! ' 'Now, it's just our luck that we're gone & got ourselves an Irish poet who is prone to a little internal vowel rhyme! ' 'Assonance! ' I said. 'Bless you Guv but I don't cares wot you'se call it! ' 'All we hear all night long is O...E...I...U! ' And with that they left the whole bloody alphabet absailing out of my head marching down my forearm the whole bloody platoon now on my patella now turning at the door saying: 'See ya fella! ' 'Call yourself...call yourself a bloody poet! ' they jeered 'We're off to Bryan Baker's head! ' 'Now...there's a poet! ' Slam! The door was silent. They were gone. I was... ...I was ...speech-less!