Pianos

Three pastel pianos sitting quietly in a vanquished room,
Old rib bones and cartilage too tough to chew
Strewn around the dank and unkempt room
Amidst golden candlesticks atop the polished wood
Of the pianos, where they sit, ignored, uncomplimented.

Until a different sort came
A playful, disquieted piece of human refuse
A clear pool in a muddied sea
And saw them, moonlight shining candlesticks
And what was that below?
He rose and stumbled over garbage to reach
A tinkling, then with strength, then precision
A Strauss waltz, ragtime, a Concerto

Unbidden, unheard, unappreciated
Alone but the three and me
All the stars and moon to hear
And deep within, remembrance
Touching other chords and keys
Other places and people
Not as nice, and not as bad,
A medium reality
A mid-line adjustment
A musical interlude.