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)