Prima Donnas

Moaning like cats and crying like babes

High-strung coloraturas and heart-wrenching bel canto,

Taut necks and folded wings,

The singers hold forth in the high street of fish town

Gulping out sounds that stop the traffic on a weekday like all others.

Inscrutable yellow eyes muster the audience

While muscles support challenging lovelorn chants

The prima donnas give encores and stretch their necks

Letting the tone surge and rip. Cascading laughter ensues

Now a lyrical intermezzo — now a slow dance to enhance the concert.

Flash mobs or buskers hold nothing against such performers.

Talents ripen through natural selection.

In the night the chorus takes over and holds forth,

Accomplishing Wagnerian chords with untold stamina,

Serenading sleepers, drunkards and lovelorn stragglers

Into the wee hours.

Summer or winter matter little to the inexhaustible,

Those high-strung performers driven by instinct

Deep rooted in saltwater and pebbles

But forced by the ever changing natural, unnatural world

To nest on house tops as the beaches became playgrounds

For other two legged but wingless creatures

Comments