Claustrocity

They close in:
elbowing, shoving,
pushing you
into the depths
of self pity.
The sense of being
together yet alone
in this
larger-than-life city.

**

As the guitar
tries hard
to warble out
a tune;
the pluck, the plunk,
the twang, the thunk…
I pity its plight.

In your hands;
Someday
sounds more
as Twinkle, twinkle might.

I tell myself:
(It’s better
than your
hip-hop babble.)

“Yes, its music
to my ears dear;
as long as in
the trombone,
you promise
not to dabble!”

**
Potato, puh-ta-to
tomato, tuh-ma-to;
its official!
the yellow brick road
does not exist.

**