Osgood's Voice
Maybe it was his love
of Broadway musicals -
you can’t listen
to that stuff without training
an imaginary voice.
Same with opera,
you have to find a voice
you weren't born with.
On the phone he projected
like a turkey-cock,
venting sonority
from a T-shirt cannon
of printable sound.
You sensed his epiglottis
pole dancing,
while he pummeled fat words
into buxom shapes.
Most voices, in time,
collapse like wet tents,
but Osgood’s voice
expanded like a Billy goat's scrotum,
it became an overripe mango,
a bouncy castle for elephants.
Then one chill morning
his voice froze and cracked forever.
Osgood's large frame wilted,
beefy vocals became unctuous,
hands dangled unexpressed.
Eventually,
his voice crept back,
but only as loud as a kittens mewl.
He now whiffled almost audibly
through a hole between his teeth
we all noted with relief.
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