the vuvuzelas are coming!

i can hear them from the roof and down the street or swarming up the ventilation shaft.

leaves rustle and i pause to listen, to enjoy,
to reflect on some madeleineousness gone by--
but whatever, almost conjured, is resubmerged becuzza that
bbbfrrt bbbrrft bbbrrfffft-ing, damn you.

i turn off the shower, and hovering just above the fresh-wet silence: bbbfrrt.
i fling open the window to let some air in this sweat mine: bbbrrft.
i lift my fingers from the keys and, in among the empty staves ballooning near my ears:

a jerky vuvuzela slither:
bbbrrffft.