No day to be named after a uvula

(with a nod to Alex Vouri)

 

I dream I am a famous tenor

stripped of my tucked-in shirt.

 

I rehearse in the shower,

later bellow high notes

 

into an ice-cave, echoes there

adding strength to my refrain.

 

The opera fails in Australia.

My songs leak counter-clockwise 

 

down a plastic drain, lose power

at the bend, leave me out of breath

 

before the aria ends. Nameless.

Another guilty white guy

 

who will only be remembered

if I put all my shit in a museum.

                            Timothy Pilgrim