Crooner's Litany

On a quiet windless path buried in Tiergarten. As if the birds had dispersed once he clanged & hollered. First pass thru the fever before emerging from the spell. Every day, it's a gettin' closer. A drunk untangled himself from the bushes, trying to slide his cock back in his pants, tilted forward to listen before stumbling thru the woods, anchoring himself to each trunk he crossed before pushing off again. Every day, it's a gettin' faster. Tossed his head but the sweat still stung. Blind & slashing at the strings. Letting each word trail away, its ending lost in anticipation for some word in return. Surely. It will come my way. Every day seems a little longer. The time spent waiting for love rushes forward or slips back & the voice which intones those words clings helplessly to its shifting pulse. He crawled through some brush & came out upon a bright clearing & laid down to grumble a prayer from childhood broken by a hush after each amen where he feverishly stabbed the strings. Choose the world to follow. This world is chosen for you. Mister, please listen to me, I will choose the world where the gates shimmer white & the grass is green. Sunday drives through the rain. Stiff bodies up front but for Father's hands sliding across the wheel. He sang until his voice grew faint & his breath burned & then he sat the guitar aside. He could hear others beyond the trees. Language as indecipherable as the birds'. Rain every Sunday, his father would say, can't remember the last dry one. Must've been before the Lexus, then Mother interrupted him as if he was jinxing all the Sundays to come. His father knew it upset her, but he would say it anyways just to get her worked up which was well worth the pain of listening to her gossip.