Hum If You Can’t Sing

So what if at every hard bout in life we burst
into song – thoughtless as reciting a prayer –
reward our feet with a waltz or two,

congratulate ourselves with an aria
then tap dance our way through
the kitchen and dining room?

And suppose the musicians arrive
early each morning
to tune up their strings, oil their drums

while the white-gloved conductor
waits with his cue sheet at the breakfast table?
Could we expect a chorus

prophesying disaster in an overture
for pension reform?
Why not ask for a drum roll through toiletry

instead or a diminuendo through dinner?
And what might our friends and spouse say
about all that sheet music

stuffed in our pants pockets, about our lives
cluttered with voice lessons, rehearsals
and women dressed in fishnet and high heels?

Imagine the fun of it all,
the spotlight on us as we dance and sing,
our pets joining in with happy tails

and the birds whistling from their cages
encouraging applause
for our pitch-perfect responses after each match.