Tony Quarrington

Waking from a sound night’s slumber,
I reach gingerly for my mobile phone
To check the overnight death toll,
Only to hear voices outside in the street.

Not the customary cacophony of
Gulls, ducks and jackdaws,
But real voices,
Human voices.

As rare on days like this
As trading stores on the high street;
At least two voices, both female,
Swear words in odious evidence.

Was this an illicit assembly
Of more than two people,
Or might they just be members
Of the same household?

In less than a fortnight,
With life never more fragile,
We have become so sensitive,
So easily offended by others’ actions.

So my thoughts turn instantly
To resentment and anger
At the perceived thoughtlessness
Of my unwelcome morning alarm.

Bu then, as I rise to rebuke,
A girl emerges from behind the tree,
Switching off her phone
After a loudspeaker conversation.

Just one girl, alone and guilty only
Of raising her voice in public at 6am;
Leaving my ears assailed by birdlife again
As I fill the kettle for the day’s first cuppa.