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‘The Victorious Tenors’
by
Mid-concert
on the Common
one morning,
the magic-savvy
maestro
turned his two
top tenors
into kayaks.
“Too many tenors,
too few kayaks,
sayonara,
ciao,” he chanted,
then swamped them with
bass as they
shot their first
rapids as
kayaks, not tenors, while
belting one out about
seasoned consumership,
reasoned right livelihood,
lotteries, potteries,
nunneries, guns and trees,
oceans and streams.
And the maestro, mired in
common song as the
daunting tenors
bashed and crashed
their way along
the living river of
their song, conceded
victory and slunk
off to the underground at
Park Street where he found
a vacant seat on the
express to Alewife, where
he’d parked his sleek
Mercedes, then home
to his wise old wife,
who would catch him by
his pointy ears and
shake him till
his soul cried,
his mind sighed,
and his tears ran wild.
