Lecture Halls

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.

Still,

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

Plays out

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.