Last Symphony

Packed my 92-year-old dad Into the old Lansing-made black Cadillac To see the Detroit Symphony play at Wharton We’re dressed up at the red light of Waverly and Saginaw This vital busy corridor Once home to Schmidt’s Estes Furniture Leonard’s Appliances A golf course with sledding hill Sully’s Drive-In Now this crossroad is a Plasma Center a closed Rite Aid and a fortressed Walgreens Along with the many amateur drug dealers Meth heads wandering with their hook hands out on corners Holding cardboard signs Anything Will Help Hair wild like bamboo shoots Golf course long ago abandoned the hill fenced off An automated carwash over Hole 13 Next to us rumbles a pickup truck Two huge flags stuck up in the wind from the rack in back One A faded dirty American flag The other Blue and black FxxK Biden Two fat hillbillies laugh it up in the cab Blow their horn Children from nearby cars learn how to read Shame This is the capital city of Michigan Wharton is jammed with suits and gowns White-tapped graduation caps The theater a carpet canyon of chatter Next to the baton-poking Maestro from Italy Stands a blond violin soloist with a sassy haircut Red dress and red lips A fire roaring to the center of those seated companions Stringing and preening around her She dips and weaves her wild bow under her chin For 35 minutes of solo flame-throwing At the end as we stand and bravo I look over to my dad He is weeping “Are you ok Dad?” “It’s just so magnificent what humans can do And this will probably be my last symphony And I was able to spend it with you.” My mouth curls I wonder whether this might be the last symphony For any of us.