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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
Copyright ©
Mike Miller
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