Her full-sized electric piano flew out
of my father’s pick up truck.
I was driving. Somehow, the base
detached from the keyboard,
and it all went flying into the busy
intersection of 47th St / Main
in KC on Saint Patrick’s Day.
No one hit it, and Lisa said,
“Let’s just throw it in this
dumpster,” when we had carried it
out of the road. “No,” I said.
“Let’s take it to your new apartment,”
and we did. When I turned it on,
the power eye glowed red,
but it did not play. The next day
I found the volume slider,
turned it up, and it played perfectly.
Aside from scrapes from the road
on its key cover, it was fine.
I practiced tying knots, roping things down,
that night, and I dreamt, at last,
of turning corners slow, and of a keyboard
rising in flight and floating across town,
playing a well-known sonata as it flew.
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