REM On the Way to the Opera

By Faye Donaya Haymond

Never had a chance to wear the ballgown

Midnight blue with sparkles about the bust

And wings of fabric, sheer stretching down

Details of my tired self I fussed

For some finer things tonight I lust

Before my youth and years return to dust

Down the freeway, listen to the rock songs

"This one goes out to the one I love,"

Satirical, biting. My father sings along

Gray November skies, airplanes above

To Baltimore the city of the cove

While I try to nap as we follow the droves

Do not think that I am bored

In the lecture concerning Verdi

Boredom from a teenager abhorred

Gray hair, glasses for clarity

Belonging to everyone except me

An opera "The Mikado" seems to parody

But lo! In comes King Nabucco

(Nebuchanezzar by his Italian name)

The Hebrews soar high and quaver low

Tale of lost love and a slave's bane

The audience sings too, in the refrain

Verdi was buried to it, that the same

Through the mists of weariness they call

I become alert to their white and gold

I ache to hit those notes, to scream with them all

And in my heart and head the tale's retold

To hear it again I'd pay, I'd crawl

The story of Assyria's downfall

When lightning strikes the idol, the aria fails to pall

This is alive, this is not just foreign tongue

I read the translations and thrill

So much so my faulty rhythm's clung

In my eagerness to tell you, and I will

That my first night at the opera is filled

And whilst sitting next to my Grandpa Phil

I listened to REM on the way to the opera

The music of the night will never die