July 2, 2024

Wote this in 1981
..
The Cricket Fiddler**
Waking up in the middle of the night. I heard a cricket chirp. So crisp, so bright. With half cupped hands wiping away the evening sands and staring into the darkened concert hall, focusing my sight. Squinting to the music with all my might in the direction of his solitary confection and my nocturnal plight.
He rosined up his bow. Politely bowed, waved to the crowd, and loosened his tuxedo. A single note, a repeating quote of screeching nails and echoes.
"Come here, my little friend" I said as I lay blurry eyed upon my bed. I have a reward for your marvelous song of which you’ve practiced never ceasing all night long. His reward fast in my hand, I spied my little one man band.
He came out of the shadows and made an encore stand. He fiddled once, then twice. I’m sure he thought it sounded quite nice.
That is when I gave him my advice. Whammm. I hit him on the head. The rest is better left unsaid. Yet still the question enters my head: Where do crickets go when they they’re dead?
May he rest in peace upon my sole, a one man orchestra turned into goo. And here is my advice to you, be careful what you say and do. You never know when your song is thru.Yeehaw