PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

He plays the piano and I sing along

Because it’s Friday and it’s my day?

Or I really like this song.



He is the piano – the music is in him

And it’s not me that’s singing now,

Staring at the floor.

Dreaming of Summertime

And blissful walks in sunshine,

Wondering what Porgy did to Bess…

Wishing I was Ella,

Flirting with the fellas,

Making Gershwin sound like Porter in his prime.



He plays the piano and he carries me along

But it’s not my voice that’s ringing with the song,

Or maybe it is…? And I’m just hearing wrong.



He is Tim and no one plays it quite like him.

No, Charlie never echoed near as poignantly before.

Yes, he loved it like a little dog -

Kissed it while still asleep,

But he bought and he paid later

And he will forever after

But now, while Charlie is still, Charlie,

He’s not his, Charlie anymore.

No, Charlie’s no addiction anymore.



He plays the piano and I disappear in fading light

On a pony: sidesaddle, with the Duke?

Or this, the Caravan, we’re moving with.



They are the captivates and I’m queen sitting on the stairs.

Blissful, feeling free without a care…

Schmoozing with the greats in transportation

To a place that’s left behind

In time, to drift back to the now

Where they don’t care if I pretend

Because they’re here pretending (in a haze of tippling) too

And my voice is just emitting to a room without a clue

In here, where they love every sound they’re hearing.



He plays the piano and tonight I sing along

Because it’s Friday and it’s my day; and I love every song?

Because it’s Friday – my away day – and it’s here that I belong.



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