in council houses
and manicured estates -
imagine whistles!
conducted by wind
the chill shriek of the first notes
like any banshee!
Hark! I hear a flute
they say, Krishna's returning -
everything's at stake!
our armies
are terrified -
bag-pipe airs and brass-band
anthems ricochet
instead of gunfire.
sax riffs rip up
banks and sergeants
and road-workers
drill to the rhythm
of clarinets.
do people
change their tune
or do ears hear differently? –
a cappella
vocals shift pitch.
football fans roar like piccolos,
grannies natter like bassoons;
lovesongs sound like
alpenhorns -
and when the saints come marching in
they blow
kazoos.
Jacqui Thewless
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/apocalypse-20/
