Droning on and on,
Words wash over you,
Some soaking in...others not.
The professor stands at the front,
And with each time his mouth opens,
More words pour out.
There are bored looks, some pencils scratching,
But most of all, everyone is tryin'
To reach somewhere.
That somewhere may be an A
Or it may just be to get through
And put this class behind them.
In the here and now,
The professor drones on and on
With his words washing over you.
Sometimes you listen with fascination,
Other times not so much.
Then on those days
Where you are just there
To get through,
A muffled, musical sound
And someone beings to scavenge their bag
For the offending cell phone
That played out that sound.
Then you pull out your own cell phone
And switch it to something
More silent and less distracting.
The lecture continues on
Without a miss beat
As if no sound was made.