Staring at a staircase,
in a chair, not looking at the crowd - about face.
Blaring trumpet laid to rest for a horn’s sake.
In a chair, looking over there,
what’s got you so intrigued that you got to stare?
Is it the stairs? Are you pondering how the next performance will fare?
Sitting in a chair made from corduroy,
it’s no longer the 70’s, we all miss those pants so heavenly,
bring over your immigrant courage, take down walls and make border-noise.
Pick up that trumpet and battle the snares,
Turn stares into smiles, make them cheer for a while.
Blare-wit-punch! Steady your nerves and overcome the Blair-Witch-Hunt