The symphony gathers talk dying down.
The smell of bugs burning on dusty lamps
reaches the balcony.
Children speculate which came first:
peanuts or peanut butter.
To keep the water moving
cymbals opened to bassoons and cellos
and traffic stopped in a swoon…
and mommy released the brakes….
You wonder if you’re the only one
gone bananas with such gut precision.
Time to shake oneself up to a plate,
any place making your soul feel so big it swims out with the ball.