The Piano

By Sean Johnson

Exotic black elephant

hunkered down in the living room corner,

snoring blues scales and Beethoven sonatas.

Jukebox of jazz.

Hummer of hymns.

Ton of tunes.

My fingers stroll along

the promenade of your keys,

ambling in and out melodies—

now “Waltz in G,”

now Chopin,

now “Chopsticks.”

No matter how badly I play,

you can’t help but show

your gap-toothed grin, from high C to low.

No wonder they call you grand.

Photo by Michael Lyday; do not copy