Report from a Brass Section
When an Enlightenment chorus
harmonizes on the new idea,
insulation and shock absorbers
don’t aid against electric zaps
and hair standing on end.
Sometimes a fleshy smell permeates,
and a whole country goes up in smoke.
The live-wire loose ends dance
around Earth where average citizens
link arms for dosey does
or notes jolt on clefs in frontal lobes
for entrepreneur and/or philosopher:
“Let there be . . ..”
What a treble tapper or shaken soft-shoe
performs with the information
entertains, or a talent alarms
until a rescue squad siren sounds.
Most often the voices inspire
sparking groundbreaking
variations on a theme to further
comfort on a lonely planet.
But occasionally while a cappella
membership skyrockets, prancing
heavy hoofers threaten to quake
longitude and latitude from orbit.