something in the way
she moves into my line of sight
& takes the air out of the room,
the piccolo part out of my Souza.
It’s hardly enough razzamatazz
to make it worth anyone’s while,
least of all 1st trumpet, 2nd chair.
What’s a flourish without a high
scattershot melody hung out
over the brass-by-golly bravado?
An unfinished chord progression,
that’s what, Sherlock, parse the parts
get the blow going, toot sweet!
Stars and Stripes have been known
to choke even the most cynical heart
we like to tear up at the rallentando.
So keep your hands to yourself, sister!
Music may not be as tough as poetry,
but it’s what I’ve been doing, a long time.