Opera by Paul Hostovsky - Your Daily Poem

Opera
by
Paul Hostovsky

Those men with frogs

in their throats, those women

wildly screaming as though

the frogs had gotten out

and were hopping around

all over the stage

always cracked me up

though it made my Aunt Edie

cry, silently to herself,

leaning in closer

to the scratchy old radio

above the kitchen table,

her head bowed slightly,

her glasses in her hand,

while me and my cousin

were playing cops and robbers

or pirates chasing each other around

and around the kitchen table

and into the living room where

we took turns dying

operatically on the couch,

those men and women keening

with Aunt Edie in the kitchen

while we giggled and bled to death

wriggling on the floor.

Paul Hostovsky starting writing poetry in the fifth grade, inspired by his novelist father. Today, he is the author of more than a dozen books and his award-winning poems have been featured in a wide variety of print and online journals. Paul lives in Boston, where he is a sign language interpreter. Learn more about him at www.paulhostovsky.com.

Larry Schug:
Nothing like radio, even in this age. Just listen to a ballgame. That proves it. As others said, good p9oem on a lot of levels.
Posted 06/07/2012 12:54 PM

pwax:
Your poems are always a treat! Phyllis
Posted 06/07/2012 11:18 AM

KevinArnold:
A layered poem on the many uses, and possible limitations, of art. The radio,with its opera, was the prominent center of their lives.
Posted 06/07/2012 08:37 AM

Buckner14:
Splendid! You more than capture both the imaginative play of children and Aunt Emma's wistful listening--and of course the substance of grand opera. Bravo!
Posted 06/07/2012 08:29 AM

Ralph Murre:
What a great poem. Yes, dying operatically is the only way to go.
Posted 06/07/2012 07:39 AM

dotief@comcast.net:
I love it! What great images!!
Posted 06/07/2012 07:36 AM

linda248:
Bravo, Mr. Hostovsky ! This is brilliant.
Posted 06/07/2012 06:05 AM

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