reads the sign on a storefront near our gym.  
Those four blunt nouns plunked down like this
seem risible and worrying.  What is a “music product”
anyway?  A torch song?  An mp3 file?  One sine
wave interlooping another?  Does our village
make any staples for export or are we only a venue
for tchotchkes and clamorous grackles?   If the latter,
it doesn’t bode well for a local crooner like me.  
Define “music” if push comes to shove.  Superior noise?  
A salve for savage breasts?  It’s almost dusk.
Nearby, an overwrought starling erupts
in twitter cadenza.  One by one, lightning bugs rise
and ignite.  Synapses fire in my head and crackle,
like the night sky’s earliest stars.  Katydids ratchet.

—Malcolm Greenlee Farley

Poet’s Website

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