Maestro

Headphones cup his ears Like a sanctuary, a secret cave Here he can hide , he is safe Crouching behind the sofa He hears raised voices Muffled shouts, words become clubs His mother is crying again Sobbing as his father rants He fumbles for the Jack Connects the black, curly wire Like an umbilical cord Feeding his soul He hears the needle touch A few scratchy seconds Then it begins. He is happily lost. His emotions surge and swell. His eyes shut as “Nimrod” builds His school pencil now a baton Caressing ,crafting, conducting Clothing music with movement. Now, prince of the podium, Blown like a seed upon the breeze As the music ebbs and flows He is free. He has escaped