Sitting down in a classroom
I looked around at students hungry and young
Suddenly
All about us sat instruments
Of the musical tongue
There were oboes and flutes
And trumpets and violas
And every kind to suit
Every whimsy
With a stern look the teacher said, “Choose!”
“Which will be your musical muse?”
But all was silent
None said a word
Until the teacher eyed my smirk
And was clearly disturbed
“I choose,” said I,
“that lonely accordion there.
The one in the corner
Sitting without care.”
Laughter abounded
But still
I smiled
And thought of the organ-like tones
I lifted the box full of notes and air
And placed my hands on its side
The shiny red buttons (when pressed)
Would bare
All the music my soul could no longer hide
I squeezed my squeezebox
My dusty old bellows
And out came a beautiful sound
Music rose and rose
From that shaky old bellows
Music rose all around
Every student and even the teacher
Stood and began to dance
At the sound of my squeezebox
And shiny red buttons
No other instrument stood a chance
So my bellows sang out
And the classroom was a street
In the Old Country markets
And merchants sold silk and trinkets and meats
So I played my accordion in another time
Coins fell into my cup
A monkey sits on my shoulder
He dances too
So do all
Young and even older
As a parade goes by
My music plays on
And my bellows sing tunes
Low and high
Off hops the monkey
But now the monkey is a child
And he begs, “oh, just one more song.
Play another bellows song slow and mild.”
I play for the children at my feet
In my old age the accordion plays on
But the scene is fading and shrinks away
I can no longer remember the songs
The classroom is empty of the markets and children
And the teacher rambles on
Students make notes on boring subjects
I raise my hand only to cover a yawn
No one says a word
So I sit quietly without my bellows
Forever my accordion music
Will go
Unheard
anthony forrest