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| THE ORCHESTRA THAT WOULD BE A TRAIN
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Squeal of rust
on ribbons of steel:
violins shriek, Cardiac arrest!
Double basses wrestle bassoons
in a stomp of woolly mammoths.
Cellos unravel their sounds
like leather grips
from old golf clubs,
strips tousle
to the floor.
Trumpets bleat out
in imitation
of sheep caught in barbed-wire.
The whole orchestra tips.
The French Horn reels and crashes
into the Flute a Bec
like a drunk
falling
into a drum kit.
The baton jabs helplessly
at some space between the notes
while the conductor's face burns
from being too close to the coal flame. It all ends
on an awkward
lonely honk,
the flightless goose
of an oboe.
Exquisite silence.
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from The Wind is a Tall Man Striding
watershedBooks
2000
Copyright © Jim Slominski |
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