Riffing on local buzz ‘bout the Bowl being too loud – bugging the neighborhood, deafening the crowd.
The picking noise, the banging noise,
The buzzing noise that flows –
The kids, they love it, girls and boys
A-buzzing ears and nose.
Between ‘bout May and October,
Tunes float across frontier,
Reaching ears older and sober
Who wish they couldn’t hear.
They think that it could wake the dead
And haunts all who live near,
This music mocking cruelly
Their vapid inner ear.
They say this isn’t how it was –
The upgrades they deplore.
They wish guitars would cease to fuzz,
No further eardrums gore.
Taste controls the human ear
Like an evil remote,
We wish the ear heard pure and clear,
Joyous neighborly notes.
Inspired by comments found here and “The Saddest Noise, The Sweetest Noise” by Emily Dickinson.