Whatever It Is [revision] Poem by Margaret Alice Second

Air-con can't combat fetid air's hot slanting
afternoon sun, another burst sewage pipe,
its stink invading the stairwell & from there
the whole building, even escapist reading
of "Soul Music" does not help, mind blank,
using loud music as a screen against that
ubiquitous voice and a malodorous office -
we've just been ordered to read the draft
language policy but I can't even manage
to concentrate on favourite authors

The ‘voice' growing louder again is turning
into a symbol of all that is wrong - how can
one person have so much to say she talks
non-stop throughout the day; no fighting in
bureaucratic trenches for me anymore, this
upset might be caused by us cutting down
our trees yesterday, the tall fir, high palm &
oak dangerously shedding of its branches,
maybe it's spiritual rebellion for necessary
removal of trees to make the house safe -

Whatever it is, I hope it ceases before I'm
found out as an incumbent who doesn't fit
her post…