-Just Outside for a Breath of Fresh Air-
Our memories take out
their kazoos. A buzz,
maybe it went humm humm.
But the tune is in there,
this tin membranophone.
I lean back and let the
chipped paint railing
bend under my hands.
And someone can’t make
it go, puffing their cheeks.
I tell them it uses your voice;
a synapse connects,
they relax and go timbral.
We were figuring if
we poured enough foam
down our throats,
something would burble
up. Make a claxon. And be free.
But the string section
has lapsed. Horsehair
bows tangled with splinter
and misdirection. There is
half a violin
vibrating no more.
And just edging the proscenium
there’s a fuzzy…it could have been
clarinet, but it shouldn’t bend that way
when headlights flash past
and a red metal squeaks around.
I am now thinking it’s just a ketchup bottle;
some tomato harmony stuck inside
refusing to cover my fries.
And then trumpets, but they
drown out whatever started us
thrumming.
Then we drop the orchestra,
leave it to collect with oil
and muckwater in the parking lot.
A neon sign singing,
and the asphalt claps and thinks it
may have heard that one before
once on the radio.
