Tuesday, 28 February 2023

Earthweal

sad old hands

can still belt out a few tunes

in competition with the clanging

of garbage bins

trucks arriving at 6am

like clock work every wednesday

a night owl's dread
 

4 comments:

  1. I love your poem and can relate. Here the garbage trucks come at 6am every Monday morning - just to put us in the mood for another grinding working week! Suzanne (Wordpress) Mapping Uncertainty

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  2. Oh, I really feel those sad old hands, and am glad they can still play, in counterpoint to the noise of garbage pickup. What a cool juxtaposition. Loved it.

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  3. Sad old hands play the music of fresh yearning and aged sorrows -- sending that music out into the wounded din of the world. (I woke yesterday realizing I needed to play pianos again after 30 years and decided to buy one. Old hands yearning.)

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