owns a sax


the song is killing me
none too softly
with a bleary braying
the screech of beached whales
of blackboards under nails

amidst the quavery crotchets
of your peg-legged tempi
I hear the mayday of melodies
into limp strings of blather

the stage is littered with dropped beats
bum-notes rattle the bars
could there be
a Tune-A-Day Book
for the cacophone?


© Paul Taylor 2001