I share the library's Internet Room
With some local misfits, loners who
Cannot work in silence—they gasp,
They sing, or laugh, or babble,
Or do all these things, and cause by their gabbling
Discomposure in others, who loon-call back
By chiding, cursing, condemning, and hinting at
Brickbats and battery. As yet no fistfights
Have broken out, nor duels with épées,
Nor acts of war, but I'm thinking of wearing
A suit of armor
Next time I log onto the network there.