Exorcising Beethoven
In three years, lessons have rendered fingers depressed enough to overrun the keyboard with scratches. Every night I slither into my imitation McCrystle gown. Dark with wine, I bang wood with the enthusiasm of a 60-year-old hooker. Sonata aficionados, the ceramic vases on the piano totter a tap dance towards infernal floor. Cymbals!
Arlene Ang
If you've any comments on this poem, Arlene Ang would be pleased to hear from you.