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.