Tom & Jerry

They sing for infinity,
faced and staring mouth-to-mouth
to craft the echoed diction ever sharper.

They enunciate scores of syllables
in thirds and fifths and octaves,
matching sleepy tongue to deadened lip
once more, again, another time…

They are unabashedly infatuated
with an acute ability to harmonize so faultlessly
passing listeners shiver;

         a strict timing synchronized:
          exact atomic vocal clocks…
          the clear and stirring possibility
          of any manner of perfection.

They sing on boulevards
near corners where grocers stop mid-sale
and turn, miscalculate, or smile;

They sing for clusters of commuters:
eyebrow-raising concerts a cappella
call so sweetly that some settle,
missing subway trains in trade
for compositions crooned
as praise, as prayer,
as something witnessed, meat
for future bragging rights:

I saw them back in 'fifty-eight
when they were still just Tom & Jerry.