The Stammerers

They are there on the other side of the hill

armed with voices; someone calls out to them: Repeat,

and a thin staccato fire is returned

like a retreating echo.

They may not, like others, always say

precisely what it is they mean; lips meddle instead,

the tongue's disobedient, and the heart

must pause for alternatives.

In timing their utterances, they may make

metronomes of their feet or sing at inappropriate

moments; they need not bite down on metal for control,

however, nor should their tongues be trimmed.

They are not contagious. Given pens they often write,

given spoons they tap out messages, before

mirrors they are often eloquent without revision:

it is the tongue's easy wag that is deceptive.