Sounds from an old piano
Float across the courtyard
Down across the roofs,
Over the gutters and sewers,
Around the alley cats in heat,
Stepping between the dogs, waiting to prowl the night.
Apartments laid out one after the other
As far as the mind’s eye can see
As if by some half-idiot child of the devil
Waiting for unworded, unspoken, uncertain fears
To rise up for peace and quiet at any price
For home, for conscience, for the unspoken dead.
Children without pets play their games,
The older chasing the younger,
Now brutally with shouts and screams,
Now gently with stealth and care,
Throughout that eternity stretching until their dinner
Of fried potatoes and twice-cooked cabbage.
Lost and found, bought and sold,
Passed from stranger to stranger,
With no history of its own,
A chipped dinner plate,
The last of a set,
Hangs on, not even waiting.
