Noises While Writing a Poem

Doors shutting, voices mumbling,
the scent of roofing tar shoots through my nose.

How much time is a little time before my next meeting?
Is there time to write something?

Another door shutting, now opening now closing.
More mumbling. Where is quiet?

The second hand creeps, feeling each number being passed.
Is there time for one more line?

Another voice in the hallway, mumbling.
Now a conversation.
Some words that I can recognize.

Oh, I need to run...