Friday, 26 May 2017

My Very Own Opera

by Florence Weinberger


Every day there’s a hum in the day sometimes a fly bickering with the smell of my sun block the black holes colliding tires wobbling bikers revving egos couldn’t miss the suss of fog the click of dog nails on pavement that’s when the afflicted  earth breaks into its solo I try to belt it out and out comes a mix of every song I ever heard going back to Swanee’s weary hearts and heartless overseers a banjo’d buzz a mood switch to Protestant hymns I’m taught in school most of the kids Jewish and all the teachers Irish Missus Rolla setting lyrics to Saint Saens isn’t what caused static that’s a broken friendship sound a scrape unlike the way the hissy hush erasers made of cotton batting scraps would shush the ice cream truck’s bells suck us out the window hell I sang a cappella no one told me I couldn’t rock a tune so now when drifters sneak up behind me catch me singing arias made of teeth and ruminations so disgraceful they could be a blue chorus line I tarry briefly they’ve already passed thinking I’m old I’m tuneless walk the tarmac not the beach the whales down too deep for revelation until the wail I hear leaps sea miles of mind play annihilates my happy birthday my very own bullet-proof opera something in my song sings a note I can hardly bear.

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"My Very Own Opera" was first published in Miramar.