Noble Beast

To the Heartthrob Whistler

I only possess uncontained love for the man
in the stripey socks crooning
into the microphone.

If only I were Swedish
then I'd have a folk tune
and a wedding march to my name.

The music pours from the honeyed tone violin
propped up on your thin frame.

From Measuring Cups through
Fitz and Dizzyspells
the whistling carries and quells.