old Tony plopped down next to me
flurriously
at the do it yourself messiah.
sitting in the altos,
his warbling, questionable tenor
threw me off
my nascent attempt
at choral singing.
he smelled of mint
and at half-time explained
that he had driven three
hours from Madison-
to sing.
Sing? Yes.
have some peppermint water,
it’s good for the voice,
he said.
he moved out,
stumbling for a fit,
fishing for his cap
under my seat.
Hallelujah. Hallelujah. Halle-----lu---jah.
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