Allegro
Crystal decanter, wine in a glass.
Tabletop woodwinds court candlestick brass.
Fine sterling service, stems in a vase.
High-tone enamel meets low double bass.
Pale yellow roses, peaches and grapes.
Clarinet colors tint saxophone shapes.
Citrus in concert, lemon and lime.
Echoes of summer in three-quarter time.
Adagio
There are brazen implications
In these muted, pulsing horns.
The strings are thick and creamy.
The bass line’s strewn with thorns.
Scherzo
Nail-tap percussion, tremolo drill.
Twelve o’clock whistle sounds cranky and shrill.
Shipping yard sunlight, loading dock shade.
Forklift holds pallet in mid-serenade.
Mustard-stained napkin, Styrofoam cup.
Strains of a power saw being tuned up,
Baritone belt sander wailing away.
White glove allegro turned grease monkey gray.
Rondo
Without darkness, there could be no light.
The sun would rise unnoticed.
Without silence, there could be no song
From either bird or locust.
Without winter, there could be no spring.
No flowers for your lover.
Without music, there could be no art.
They flatter one another.
I walked the rails out of my town this day and saw many things.
Train tracks are different marking a way that is often rank.
Weeds are here seen to conceal trash and rubbish a wild wind brings.
Building has bare back to rails with its loading dock being blank,
old sad car stored in yard having house owned and kept by a crank.
Street fronts are different, laid out for automobiles and such.
See there's an empty glass bottle unbroken some person drank.
Rail's path is lonesome trek; I doubt if I love it very much.
A family lived in a little row house in Queens.
When we saw them each week, there were numerous funny scenes.
The household head was adamantly opinionated.
This loading dock foreman was grossly undereducated.
His wife Edith was unassuming and subservient.
She and daughter Gloria witnessed many an event.
In the living room, raucous arguments we saw,
as he clashed with his educated liberal son-in-law.
Gloria’s husband was a live-in student named Mike.
This “meathead” was someone the father-in-law did not like.
For years, Archie called Mike a “dumb Polack”.
On television ratings, this family had a lock.
In the seventies, the Bunkers were a sensation.
We can still see the show’s reruns in syndication.
An eyesore in the community as progress takes its toll.
Windows broken, rust on the old metal frames
Vacant, dust filled, old broken file cabinet in the corner
Taking a walk through it, I could feel the past
Wondered how many lives this old building touched
A way of life for so many
Security in a weekly paycheck
A faded time card on the floor where the office was
Dust covered wooden desk
A monument to the industrial age
A table with the boards curved from age
Where people ate lunch, talked, laughed, cried
Discussions about the kids, sports, politics, shop talk
Feel the past? Yes, days gone by, good days
Boards rotted on the loading dock, a rusted hand truck
No ventilation, no complaints, an honest days work
Clipboard hanging on the wooden beam
Can’t you feel it?
Shuffling into the parking lot, lunch cans in hand
See you tomorrow
Kids waiting for Dad to come home, supper on.
Just another day.