Evening

Singers practice for tonight’s show.

It’s a major performance

 

for the mosquitoes flown in from

far and wide

 

with me as the only one in

the audience. I listen to them scream

 

around me, some off key

but screaming nevertheless. There is an

 

acute need for more training

yet time is of essence. They cannot seem

 

to find the right singers, not today. The birds in

the trees sing their usual songs

 

undisturbed by the

cacophony below. The dog wonders in

 

and lifts her head to snap up

a tenor flying

 

past her nose like a dues ex machine.

She doesn’t like the music, less

 

the performance while I sit tapping on keys

and slapping my arms and legs

 

to the unheard

beat as mosquitoes land around

 

me like drones in a desert in some far

away place no one wants to visit.

 

(Published in Cyclamens and Swords, Dec 2013, Israel)