605. CAPTIVA

CAPTIVA
In this morning light I
met a troglodyte. His
name was Henry, and
he'd been up all night.
Seized (certainly) not
of silence - no, not at all
- he sensed his moment,
dawning, call; and he
wouldn't shut up.
I listened listless, forced
as I was to endure - those
famished words, those
wild enclosures, remarkable
for their less, not their more.
So little then was there that
I saw no pretense in being.
I'd met a troglodyte hardly
worth the seeing.