At the Symphony.

At the symphony, at long last At the symphony, it dawned on me That I'd heard it all before for free On HMV. I eased around & looked past The first few stalls to mark the audience. Their eyes were wagging down, with brows Pricked up, listening to, in measured rows What might have been their radios. The sense Behind it all escaped me: such endless clapping Now on view, a huge ensemble in hand-crushed Patter of a beefy, palm-chapping Tremolando. Then they woke and rushed Pell-mell: a loungeward cattle-drive to get A frantic choke played through a silent cigarette.