I didn’t know you were bringing your French horn,
I said to the stranger on the subway,
Or I would have brought my flute.
I was playing it last night as if my lively fingers were a rebellion against the doctor’s news about my heart, tripping merrily over Mozart.
And what a sight it would be if she had brought her trumpet,
If he had been reminded a timpani was just the missing thing.
And maybe in the highway below
They would have heard the Firebird Suite
And hated their lives a little bit less.