The tuba sits in the back of the band room,
brass fumble and elephant lung.
He knows his place is to be backbone to the melody.
He is the two and the four of the tempo, bass clef bashful
and just wanting to be part of the dance.
He looks at the back of a lot of heads
that rarely turn to listen to his harrumph and plod.
And there she is, rows in front of him,
the clarinet. The stuff of sonatas, sleek,
smooth embouchre and trill.
He knows she isn’t perfect; he’s heard the squeaks
and breathiness from her section before.
And he sees her admiring the saxophone
when that guy begins to weave his way around the room
weaving jazz bop seduction songs.
There’s always a saxophone that gets first look.
All collar up, Coltrane and Parker pedigree.
Someday, he muses, someday I will meet her,
somewhere far away from these horrible uniforms
and John Philips Sousa parade marches. There
will be no sheet music then, no predetermined tempos.
They will not have their instruments in front of them
and although he still may have the confidence of a tuba player,
she will see something solid in him
that a million saxophones never wanted to provide.
Their conversation will become trills and low tones.
An awkward waltz with two unlikely players.
Someday she will weave melodies for him soft and perfect,
and he will do his level best to remain her backbone.
Not Iambic….Do Not Accept…
These tags I’ll pop, and boast in rhyming verse
that what I wear puts swagger in my gait;
though twenty shillings have I in my purse,
my self-esteem and manhood both inflate
when lofty furs I purchase for a cent.
Thy grandpa’s clothes are worthy salvage, though
they smell a trifle musty. Still, I spent
much less to dress myself from head to toe.
To save or not to save? The question’s moot.
I’ll never give my coin to high-street crooks.
These dusty shelves will yield their hidden loot
to those, like me, more frugal in their looks.
Like ancient coins washed up on distant shores,
I’ll find my treasures in these thrifty stores.
- Macklemore, “Thrift Shoppe”
*Crying with laughter*
ITS IN IAMBIC PENTAMETER. SWEET JESUS THIS IS MY NEW FAVORITE THING.
Cam Awkward-Rich performs “Misanthrope Decides How He Feels About Jason Collins’ Coming Out” at the Bay Area Unified Slam Finals in Oakland, California, on M…
LOVE LOVE LOVE
Don’t You Understand, I’m an Artist!
Working alone in a studio can do things to your head.
j.k place | capri | photo patrick cline | lonny