JOHNMICHAEL SIMON POETRY

Most nights he serenades me

outside my bedroom window

hidden in dense cedar needles

his compositions accompanying

my nocturnal preparations

 

While bulbul and crow practice

their scales hardly deviating

from accustomed themes

he (God bless his ingenuity)

sings endless variations

seldom repeating himself

and when he does

it’s always with some surprising

little warble shifting almost

seamlessly from orange beak major

to black wing minor and back again

 

Tonight he’s moved his perch

to the pine tree as he chirps

another multi-movement divertimento

and I, sleep denied,

bless him, curse him,

sometimes wish to murder him

 

Slipping at last into sleep I see

Salieri preparing his devilish plot

and in delightful flashback,

young Mozart playing improvisations,

lifted horizontal by his fellows

hands effortless over his head