Car radios two hundred yards away
Cranked up so high their bass beats rudely shake
Our old home’s addled bones. Now, add the quake;
Phlegm coughing cycle mufflers (thug’s cliché)
Designed to amplify, not mute—foreplay
For arch noisome twits. Other thunders break
Our civil peace when midnight taggers slake
Their narcissistic thirst with viscous spray.
Battered, besieged by loud and silent noise,
We wonder at the malice. What human
Need, what want, what awe gives birth to such arts?
Are they prey yearning for status, grace, poise,
Or mock predators, enraged, born to stun?
Hear us, damn you, and our harsh thumping hearts!
(2/26/08)