WISHING I COULD SING

They are lined up in a row —
a dozen or so
and I think
most of them don’t know
why they are there.

 

They have come to hear
a man
likely not as old as they
read some poetry.

 

They’d be more attentive
if I could sing —
sing the old songs like
LET ME CALL YOU SWEETHEART
and
A BICYCLE BUILT FOR TWO.

 

If I could do that
some of them might join me.

 

But I can’t sing.
Instead, I read poetry.

 

I believe
that one or two of them
were pleased.

 

I greeted each one as I left —
as I left
wishing I could sing.

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