All life is out there, spending, spending,
spendthrift with its silver
like a drunk on moonshine.
Across the coffee-shop, baristas
are calling out to one another in Malayalam,
coffee burbles in Spanish,
the streets are a torrent of passing Italian,
windows fly open on Punjabi, doors
bang in Swahili, cars go by in a rush
of German, screens flash off and on
in Russian, mobile phones shout Mandarin,
the school playground is screaming Sylheti.
Even songbirds are chirping in accents,
Valleys, Geordie, Bhojpuri.
This upturned glass is mute, but wants to go
screeching across the table,
its mouth ravenous for word of you.
The world is squandering its currency
of languages.
Save one.
Speak to me.