woeful words

I wrote it
but no-one noticed

my words sat
craving attention
(awaiting cordial chatter?)

eyes glanced
moving quickly
(seeking saltier speech?)

Do words die
when no-one notices?

I Miss, No. 2

Laptop resting
Next to beverage and biscuit
On coffee shop
Table top

Customers eyes passing
Through text and tome
By themselves
At various book shelves

I am sitting
At my pulpit and post
To write what I privately spy
As patrons browse and buy

I get it: this poem’s title isn’t parallel to the first one in this series. Rules are meant to be broken, right?