The Pink-Slipped Herald

His sneakers took beat to the thump in his chest,

And affront that roaring field he counted his rests.

With a wink in his eye,

With a loud wailing cry,

The pink-slipped herald peeled away their flesh;

It clung to their chins, a disregarded mesh.

Climbing abruptly,

Falling tardily,

He poured out notes from the brass;

His fire-engine-cheeks shining like glass.

Swinging his horn from side to side,

He buckled listeners onto the jazzy ride.