The Player Piano

It stood there with the splendour of a tombstone,
yet lacked the decorum to remain
quiet very long. The theatre full,
the player piano sprang to life,
blanketing the air with patchwork tunes
evoking the laughter of ghosts with chains
removed… Truly an instrument without
the need for men—and artful, no doubt—
but leaving me cold in spite of all the bodies
warming the room by bloodstreams’ eddies.

And I was just another looker-on;
though naturally I formed my own
image of the right response: a bottle
thrown at the stage—breaking its brittle
skin against the player piano’s shell—
and freeing some pathetic scroll.