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
© HMH, 2013