The Quiet One

I never said I didn’t have
a hero. Only that I am overly
qualified for the mass hysteria
surrounding the unveiling
of bridges or birthday cakes.
I tend to be the quiet one
in the back, wearing a falsetto
or a drumset for a necktie.
And there are other butters
to be bageled, too. For instance,
if x signifies the distance
a train has to travel to get to
point y, then how many licks
does it take to get to the center
of what can only be described
as a circumference gone haywire?
I’m past the perfunctory nature
of digressions passing for clarity.
That’s my hand waving, so you’ll
forgive me for not shaking yours.