The sun has been up for an hour
and so have I
slept for
almost five hours last night
dreamed of a snake
that wanted to wrap around my throat
this’ll soothe the singer’s apprehensions
it kept hissing
and in the background
a soft voice
our Chorus Director’s
screaming hydrate! hydrate! hydrate!
The hollow cavern in my gut
is almost as large
and empty as the rotund belly
of the auditorium
and just as
dark and menacing
expectant
in the distance, water trickling
I am starting to tune in
on all the people who will come:
I can hear their voices
coiling slithering in the silent hall
a muddle of thoughts
disparate expectations
tuning their doubts
like an orchestra
running diverse random scales
as the audience rattles programs
sipping water from plastic bottles
But we sing acapella
there is no orchestra
to tune:
just our voices
Lead Tenor Baritone Bass
Hydrate, hydrate, hydrate
our Director exhorts us:
just a light meal
no dairy products
and hydrate! hydrate! hydrate!
I hope the dressing room
toilets work
with all the hydration
there’s going to be a need.
My voice is a well-
lubricated machine
liquid in its smooth transitions
my pitch is dead on
I run over the score in my head
between sips
My bladder is loving
all the attention;
my kidneys are
less enthusiastic;
my voice
recalls strictures:
wrestling with
my animated scarf
As the day drips towards
the opening notes
Descartes sustains me:
I drink; I sing; I am — I think.
