Soundtrack for a Silent Film

[horatioalone]

Jazz, mostly. A dollop of Wagner
when the camera zooms in
on anguished kohl-lined eyes
or the hard edge of a building
against the white sky. Snatches
of hospital songs and frontline ditties.
I had a little bird, its name was Enza.
A single abortive note of Tchaikovsky
when a beloved face appears
for a moment in the tram’s blurry glass.
Bay mir bistu sheyn.
Xylophone trills when a pigeon
shits on you in Central Park.
The oboe laughter of the crowd.
A cheerful march as Vesuvius erupts
with a Steamboat Willie whistle.
Trouble, it will never trouble you.
And by the final act’s title card,
when it’s all falling apart,
as you knew it would,
eventually, inevitably,
written as it is in the stars and the script,
nothing but the skip—skip—skip of the record.