The Piano

I once played The Wild Horseman on
the used piano my mother
bought for my lessons.

But didn’t like my teacher so
I quit before I could play as well
as she did.

It was an upright piano. Used. We
signed it inside the cover, back of where
you place your music.
That piano moved three times. From
the upstairs flat n Calvert, to the house
on Oregon and
back upstairs to the flat on Fairfield.

They left it there when my grandparents
died and they moved 300 miles

Decades later my grown son and
a friend went
exploring  the house on Oregon, missing half
the roof, doors boarded up or
boards torn

They found
an abandoned piano in
the wreckage. It wasn’t ours though.
Someone else
had moved on and left it

Old Plank

It's always summer, always
hot. The sky is always blue. There's a barn.

Behind the house, back
of the garden were the

My cousin Barbara and I would walk through the grass, never quite reaching the woods.

We are always young. So
much of our
lives yet to be lived. So
long, long ago.

10 O’clock

But I have promises to keep,   
And miles to go before I sleep,
                           Robert Frost

Promises kept or
broken as the miles disappear
in the rear view mirror.

Time to sleep approaches.
Distances are
than they


Nine O’Clock AM

I open the front door.
The air is already hot, humid,
close. A watery sun barely makes
patches of light on the green
trees overhead before it's gone.

In a fallen brown magnolia leaf A few drops of rain have puddled. A
damp patch outside the door and the

black car stops in front of the house and
drops a young man off. He opens the garage door across the street and sits

faint memory of a crash of thunder
in the middle of the night are all
there is to show that it rained.