by Gail Wolper


when he stood to play he

fluttered onto the music.

and I was a little girl trying

to chase her brother's ball

down a dirt road.

His Rumba and Meringue were

both masterly.

I pushed the fruit

back on my head

I flapped my chicken wings

to the beat

I squwaked at the red rooster

to shoo

and I felt woozy from

the magic

when he played a folk song

about a little blue bird

which had once been a boy


I had a little flute

in Paraguay

my mother gave it me

I was never there

and sad sad was

such sorrow at the loss of a lover


I whooped and hollered

for the music

he was ugly

he was handsome

and when he tried to speak to me

after the show

I blushed shy

and turned.

It was a fantasy

It was a day on a cruise

It was a miracle

It never happened

It is always in the sweetness of his notes.

06/30/2013

Posted on 06/30/2013
Copyright © 2025 Gail Wolper