She reasons with them. They brush away her words like cobwebs.
I scream at them. They cover their ears and the words bounce off.
She dances, swirling and spinning her story. They turn away.
I whisper, try to take them by surprise. My words are lost in their chatter.
She sings to them. They have no use for an unalloyed voice.
I write pamphlets in neon ink. They trample them underfoot.
Together we face the eternal dilemma. Those who do not have to listen, choose not to hear.