You are a crackhead. I love you.

Sometimes notes come careening off your tongue
before the composer is born.
This isn’t a problem until you
ask me to play them back,
but in a time signature of 5/7
instead of 3/4 on an instrument
that should have seeded in my vocal chords before puberty
but never advanced past I-IV-V-I
in G major on a used recorder;

I can barely lift my fingers from the stops long enough
to squeak out an apology,
which you ask me to repeat
while you,
close your eyes
and hum and murmur,
“what a beautiful sad sad song”

Laura Elise Lacanette 8/22/10

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