You know you're in trouble
When folks burst your bubble
That your fine English accent
Most others lament.

Their eyes grow far larger
Their countenance harder
As they gaze with intent
To listen hell bent.

Their attention a treasure
At first such a pleasure
Until one quite grasps
Their facial contrasts.

As you blabber away
Their head starts to sway
To the tones of your words
Like a flock of wild birds.

Too late you catch on
Their attention long gone
It seems they got stuck
In your sonnet like muck.

Shakespeare or Keats
Moved out by those Tweets
Leaves you silently grasping
And for sympathy asking.

Your hope turns to prayer
That perhaps they'll forbear
Whilst you fast learn their lingo
To squirm out of limbo.

For the speech we hold dear
The moral's now clear
If you want to converse
Just don't do it in verse.