playing the same chorus big
as King Kong. The men are footnotes
through the tune. They enter
in April/exit in June. The song is played

through the years. It began on eight-tracks,
then records, and went to cassettes. As it
hit the CD’s I became a mess of broken needles
and skipped tracks/mangled tapes and old

hacks. Now the same tune is on
my phone. And I sigh in my drink to it all
alone. It plays on my head every night
in my black, drenched bed. I can’t stop

the chorus and the shrieks. My voice
is hoarse. And I’ve no strength. I’m
weak. I sang it to lovers and to friends. I sang
it on YouTube to women and men. Some

like it. Some do not. Some can relate. But then
it’s forgot. It echoes in school hallways
and locker rooms. It echoes in broom closets
and doctor’s offices. (that prey on us loons)