Ideally the best form of criticism
is without being noticed
but he's sighing,
Oh god
across to someone
he obviously knows and is connected
with.
She has ear-buds in, matching
unmatching thoughts.
The print could be unreadable
and she is wearing
petrol-coloured dungarees.
Abruptly they shift chairs
and stand up,
having decided no longer do they
require this effort of study.
They pack up their notes
leaving the poetry behind.
It is always left behind.