Inspired by a day of leaves of, um, grass.
I heard Columbia singing, the varied carols I heard,
Those of engineers, each one singing theirs as it should be, tired but strong,
The frat boy singing his as he poured his vodka and gin,
The public safety officer singing his as he makes ready for work, or leaves off work,
The Barnard student singing what belongs to them in their fanny pack, Oswald Fresh singing onstage,
The leisurely singing as they sat on the lawn, the adventurous singing as they stood,
The GS student’s song, the pregamers on their way in the morning, or at noon intermission, or at sundown,
The delicious singing of Rina Sawayama, or of Tierra Whack herself, or of SOPHIE through electronic lyricism,
Each singing what belongs to them and to none else,
And the very next day, after the revelry, at 9:30 PM the party of young Bwoggers, robust, in Lerner 510,
Singing with open mouths their strong melodious songs.
We’re talking about this grass, surely via Sophie Tobin