A yellow schoolbus trundles into view
stopping now to chat with a cat
her mistress elegant in jodhpurs
primping for the audition we all await.
The leaves feel dull
the yellow Ticonderogas sadly blunt
from the last assignment
which most failed to hand in.
The radio plays the only one
he scored for two pianos -
hummingly engrossed late at night in the cold flat
Constanze down the hall
carefully arranging their bedclothes
amaranths filling her hours.
How many variations on eighty-eight
were stuffed into that fuzzy head?
Flurries will soon knock at the door
scrapers masking the alarms
as UPS trucks continue to evade the obvious
stumbling back to their sheds for more trifolded flyers
anticipating the routine fill of days
the reasons why the yellow schoolbus
will not instead turn down this street again
any time soon.
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| Constanze Mozart |