You suppose that by breaking this
piccolo you will put an end to
the forbidden tunes.
But I will continue to be sung.
I will seep into the dreams of your
children and they shall wake
up humming me.
I will be played on obos,
And hammered out on drums.
I will fill the airways.
Like baby spiders blowing in the wind
on silky parachutes I will
colonize your trees and lawns and
gardens with song-like webs.
Your neighbors will whistle me as they
walk down the street in front
of your house.
On some Damascus day you too will find
me irresistible and will
play me like a CD as you drive down
roads to new places.
Jay Edson