Real Music

bent over, I lean against the park bench alone,
watching the squirrels scurry about their business,
only to be interrupted by passersby walking
or jogging. the interlocutors never pay much heed to
the musical interplay, content instead to listen to ipods
ablaze with the lyrical cacophony of the top 40. I watch the
squirrels judge the foreign interludes, with complaints
of pitchiness, dreadfulness and shrugs of ditzy bemusement.
they didn't bring it this time; too karaoke. try some real music!
and during a break from the passersby, the real music emerges
dancing across the skies and flitting about the trees
to the rustling choreography of the swaying branches.



10 May 2007 by Glen Alan Woods