In the iotas

He sings
behind dark glasses.
Not Pavarotti, or even McCartney,
but the voice can carry the tune with a little nuance.
There once were happy smiles and meant applause.
Now, it’s a smattering.
The discerning see, and look another way.
A voice graph would show,
in its interesting iotas,
the tremulousness.
Confidence ebbing.
Now, a tip of the hat, a graceful exit,
would be in order,
he thinks.

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