Pictures On The Piano
They would always say, look dear boy
do not wish your life away, as they
looked within themslves with a sharp
look of regret. They are all just pictures
now, peering from the piano. Sometimes
when I play chop sticks or the theme tune
from Beverly Hills cop I see them laughing at me,
even those that are not smiling seem
to be thinking the same thing. All of them
in a frozen told- you -so stance.
Looking down at my fingers I notice that
some of them are as yellow as the keys,
stained with nicotine, a danger they do
not list on the packet.
Why is it that when we were young
and we indulged in our then pleasures
all stains, and mess would wash away
with the aid of a little water and soap
before I answer myself and just as I hit
another wrong note another of those
faces seems to break into a smile.