Angels with trumpets adorn the valance
Above the apex of the proscenium,
That imaginary portal of distance
Between us and singing delirium
So intense the response is often tears.
I lived in this world for twenty-six years.
At times, I watched and listened from the wings
Urging them on like a ghostly maestro
Not always quite happy with the tempo.
Sometimes I sat in the chorus singing
From memory — I could not read a score.
I left because the patrons hadn’t stayed
No matter how well the orchestra played.
I do not go to concerts anymore.
