Scatting Practice

If I were to slip into a black hole that took me to another dimension,

The first thing I’d say to the life forms I came across would be,

Skarabababambam!

And then I’d probably get a hold of myself

And sing them a tune to see if they could hear me.

There’s lots to love about Earth, but

A few intergalactic holidays a year would help me, I think.

Yes, perhaps I could get a similar existential reality check

By building myself a little shack in the Arctic

And using my cosmic vocal cords

To croon to snowy foxes

And cry for mercy to miffed polar bears.

I could move to a hole in the ground on some isolated islet

—the Pacific has been a lifelong source of titillation—

Where I’d find myself a shrubbed audience for my scatting practice.

Bahbadapdap-scabadiboop!

Scoobiedoobiewoop-pap!

night-club love-letter to a stranger