5th Chorus Poem by Daniel Brick

5th Chorus: This poem is an resolved crisis between people who are Poetry-Enthused and people who are Poetry-Apathetic. Hey, you people,
listen to some JAZZ: Get electrified.

On my walk around the upper level
of O'Hare Street Park,
I saw a fox sunning himself
on a red-dirt mound in the valley.
His red-gold fur shone with a vividness
he felt as warmth, sleep-inducing warmth.
He stirred as I passed him,
my scent descending into his knot of fur
and flesh, and alerting him,
"A stranger passes. Look dead."
And so he lost the opportunity
to learn from me, and I from him.
Just like the merchant, cutting corners
out of stress, who declined a gift of verse,
or the young woman, so lost in her I-Phone,
she missed the Flight of Poetry, soaring,
just brushing the top of her head.

And on the other side of things,
an old man softly holds a blue leather-
bound book, called "The Long Haul, "
poems his wife wrote early in their marriage,
poems they read together on their anniversaries.
A middle-aged woman tells her friends, she visits
her mother once a week. She tries to embrace her,
but her mother sees a stranger, not a daughter.
and pulls back indignantly. And she cries inside
when she remembers how much she loved her mother's voice.

There's Angus, the Blues bassist. We nod to each other.
Angus stops and watches the relaxed fox, the king
of his small red hill, anointed by sun shafts.
That's the fox, laughs Angus, not me.
"I'm King of the Night Realm Jazz. The Masters
of the surrounding vegans serve me.
"We take your breath away. We blow off
the top of your heads. We launch the music
as if for distant listeners. But it's enough we're electrified."