fingertips dancing across gleaming white,
melodious sound matching the
click clack, click clack, click clack
of polished dress shoes in the
warm, laughter-heavy air.
black key, white key, black, white,
a timeless twirl, petticoats flashing into
view for the merest of seconds
before falling back into place with the
plasticky, mass produced curls.
left hand bouncing,
up an octave, down an octave, up, down,
right performing a solo waltz,
crescendo, decrescendo, crescendo, de,
sheet music sitting, forgotten,
pristine noteheads still
smelling of the paper press.
unnatural yellow sunshine, one in the corner
flicker, flicker, flickers
until finally conceding,
submitting to the eventual darkness.
the fingertip tango soon following,
slowing and tapping and pausing,
just slightly.
the plastic curls and the click clack shoes
trickling away like warm honey,
succeeded by too-red lips
smudged in the corner,
too-loud laughter and unsteady steps.
one final rest, two measures remaining,
fingertips now dancing alone,
no click clack, no petticoats, no heavy air,
simply fingers dancing across
gleaming white.
- a.
1 / 2021
YOU ARE READING
shoebox | a poetry collection
Poetry" 𝑖'𝑚 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒆𝒃𝒐𝒙 𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝒃𝒆𝒅. . . " - a collection of poems written by yours truly - " . . . 𝑐𝑜𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝒅𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝒎𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 . "
