Music

I am not musical

I can’t sing

Or play an instrument

But when I was fifteen I had a boyfriend John

Who was a classical guitarist

He bicycled from Westchester to the Bronx every weekend to see me

With his guitar strapped to his back

It took him two hours.

He parked his bike outside our apartment building

Rode the elevator up to the fourth floor and

Sat in my room on the edge of the bed.

Played Pachelbel, Bach

While I sat on the floor listening

And watched his fingers

When he took a break we kissed

Quietly so my mother wouldn’t hear.

One Saturday he stayed late

Asked if he could sleep in the living room so he wouldn’t have to bike home

In the dark

My mother said no.

So he left and

Well

We drifted apart

The climate was not compatible with romance.

About Karen To and Fro

Everything you didn't want to know about me!
This entry was posted in poetry. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s