poetry by j matthew waters

the show must go on

a little snare drum roll
feet tapping & fingers snapping
waiting on the vocalist
to enter center stage

where o’where could she be
all the faceless people
keep asking themselves
where o’where is the lovely
the talented
the beautiful vocalist

their faces slowly dissolve
into a sea of green
little red triangles floating
here & there
as if having no particular
place to go

soon the band of three
becomes two
& eventually only the percussionist
survives the wreckage
he & his little snare drum shaken
but taking requests
as if becoming the focal point
of the evolutionary
underwater show

june two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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