Voices That Call Attention To Themselves Poem by Max Reif

Who are those men
whose voices loud in a room
of talkers pierce
through the general drone
of words going up
like smoke, becoming indistinct,
or like the buzz of bees,
a mere collective sound —

whose words refuse to decompose like that
but, coarse with the husk of will,
remain distinct,
going out and pointing
a finger back to the speaker,
whose authority
becomes annoyance
to one with other business
or with no business at all,
only dreams?