Tuba man

His face a smudge, eyes under monstrous hat
Invisible, performed his daily chore
Of packing up a cart, a folding chair
And brassy instrument,
Unsinkable musician, wher’art thou?
Are you at Pearly gates performing songs of joy
Or roaming still, invisible, among the crowd
that so oft despised your artless and imperfect tunes?
I’m saddened by your absence, keenly missing
the clownish cheer and the friendly mien
and long and sonorous vibration you called music.
I’m sorry that I passed you by
Indifferent, self-important, in a hurry,
Without a word, without a friendly touch.
Here I am standing at the door
Here is the orphaned city waiting
in sorrow that is born of deep and silent void
And lo! A boy puts lips
onto the heavy mouthpiece
Of his ridiculous and shiny
tuba.
December 26, 2008