What in God's Name is that Racket??

One night my love and I were out observing the constellations.
When from nowhere we hear to our consternation,
Incessant notes of sour declaration.
My love and I, upon closer clandestine inspection,
Observe a drunken troubadour torturing such inflection,
As to sour the deafest of men upon hearing such disconnection.
And as we run hand in hand, unaware of our direction,
Pelting objects sound, crushing the object of our disaffection.

Reviews

[Derek S.Keck]

I'm sure theres been many of nights people have wanted to be "pelting objects sounds" at me! Wonderful, light hearted write. You always have really cool structures to your poetry and they always run through my mind so smoothly.

[Samuel Dickens]

So I guess the singing drunk's non-musical oration recieved an exhortation of missiles thrown in concentration, denoting the audience's irritation.

[Fabian G. Franklin]

Nobody has respect for us cats making love. Imagine, they even invented the word, "caterwauling" after it. { I suggest that what you heard was not a man at all/ but a tom and p***y looking for somewhere to have a ball.} lmao

[FJ Davis]

What?--you didn't like my singing?
Amusing little romp.
Tell the truth, Judy, were you only "observing the constellations?" Or is that a modern term for a very ancient practice?
Always appreciate your poetic flings.

[Chris Smith Welshpoetcs]

I'm running for shelter, great poem Judy ; )