• I still remember you,
    young and loving,
    slowly learning to plunk out tunes
    on my worn keys.
    You never minded that I lapsed out of tune;
    it was an adventure for you,
    talking with the piano tuning man
    about twice a month.

    But then you grew,
    your musical talent tossed aside
    for a well paying job as a doctor.
    In, perhaps, a tribute
    to your love of music
    you took me through three moves.

    But now I’m no longer played,
    you no longed painstakingly hammer out
    masterpieces from your youth.
    Papers and coffee mugs litter my top,
    staining the wood.

    Then one day you write it:
    an ad for the paper.
    Calling me an antique,
    but saying “needs work.”
    “Needs work?”
    my oscillating key
    never bothered you before.

    But I guess its for the best,
    now I have a new child,
    a little girl,
    slowly learning to plunk out a tune,
    and trading songs
    with the tuning man.