Saxophone
...inspired by 'Black Tambourine' by Hart Crane
The cellar is his bleak repose,
in concert with the cockroaches and flies;
there he wipes his runny nose,
toils the day long, sunshine tries,
insinuates through rough and crumbled boards.
Lessons can't assuage his conflicts,
the bottom of the pile, his heritage affords
no more, the atmosphere restricts
his breath. It leans against the wall,
his tarnished, dusty saxophone,
a measure of the time when he stood tall,
cadenzas blown with free and strident tone.
Copyright © Keith Bickerstaffe | Year Posted 2012
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