CROSS THE STREET, THEY SAID

by Fred Aiken

a soundtrack of whistling folk singers
scream into a microphone painted red while
wearing papier-mache mustaches sprinkled with glittery gold
as the city sits with hands folded back,
shoulders stiffened by the weight of melodic notes
trampling down streets not-yet-paved,
but i still think it might be safe to cross the street