The Lost Art
by Richard Mcallister
Bring it back,
that light hearted greeting on a dark morning.
We need it back,
that unnecessary smile in the midst of a crowd.
Where did they go?
The words now held back from a future friend, lover or enemy.
How will we know?
When silence dominates every bus and train,
every park bench and post office queue.
The art is lost,
and the fear grips all. The conversationalist is made redundant.
We avert our eyes,
and forget that we have forgotten:
The art of conversation.
Ps. I know the syntax is rubbish, but I thought why the hell shouldn’t I try and write a poem.