Seventh grade, we played music in band class,
learning as an ensemble orchestra
organized by the teacher-conductor;
we worked to play concerts. I must confess
Playing music was my first love, a dream
in triple time tempo, a bolero,
as we danced just as fast into old age,
no one knew time doesn't walk at a stroll,
only four decades ago, I watched tar
Move, sweet as molasses, after college;
upset the apple cart, music as queen
settles on who succeeds, a straight arrow
in flight hits the target, center bullseye;
creating music in band was a joy.
Playing "Hill Street Blues" and watching TV
leaves me homesick to return to the pain
absent in wisdom, sentimental songs
yearning for foolish days, friendships long gone
since I moved east to Sweet Home Chicago.
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