Play Me a Song

not the one

that just noodles along

in familiar riffs

in the present tense

(nothing gone, nothing coming)

key changes that never

broke a heart

enough of that

play notes that walk

like there’s someplace to go

and notes that know

(you have two hands)

when there’s nowhere

sing now, only now

to those who won’t die

but sing me

the endings

not that I mind

seeing of the stranger

only his shadow

his moonlight shadow

I know the rest

but Time’s knife

is for cutting

show me the fruits

limbs (even

their memories)

scooped up and trashed

spill them

from the left hand

empty the dream

of home and plenty                                   

and olive-strewn shade                             

wake me up sobbing                                  

in the right hand

play something nice

like that robin

a child was whistling

sagging in her steps

all the hot walk home

till it came out right

Patrick Daly