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.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem