The Usefulness of Our Talents

The string of melody flows

From the cellist's bow, as a loose

Ribbon on the top of a May Pole

Waves in the breeze.

The other three lift and lower

Their arms in unison,

Releasing their own ribbons of notes

Gracefully intertwining with his.

At least that is the image that drifts

Into my mind as I listen to him

Practice behind his bedroom door,

While I lazily sip morning coffee.

An hour from now

He will be helmeted and

Pant-leg shackled, carrying his

Bike up the basement stairs.

An hour after that, and longer,

He will be strolling the aisles, calling for tickets,

Humoring himself by persuading riders

To play a part in his imaginary

Hot oatmeal raffle.

Is that how he chooses to

Spend his talent, taking pleasure

In the innocence of those who

Depend on his kindness,

Giving only to an elite three

The tenderness of his music

Merely once a week

(And me every morning)?

Naida Lavon

2005