The Color of Music
I’m sitting in a room with three friends;
there’s some blood mixed in,
pretty good stereo, decent speakers.
I don’t know the average friend count
for people my age, my chemistry,
but at last count I had three.
Each one of us has music in their
head, the best music they can think of,
segues, riffs, crescendos.
I think there should be a friend manual
with schematics, triangle warning signs
and a chapter on trouble shooting.
Listening to the music in their head,
muting Anderson’s trilling flute to make
room for a friend’s Georgia fiddle.
We each ambled down some lover’s lane
during the British invasion. Johnny
found Lennon. Bobby found Garcia.
The manual would caution that friends are not
mirror images; they are like cans
of Benjamin Moore’s Chantilly Lace.
Their lot numbers don’t match, so they listen
to the same tune, but in different hues,
basking in a kaleidoscope of melodies.
*
William A. Greenfield is a youth advocate worker in upstate New York. His chapbook, “Momma’s Boy Gone Bad”, was published in February 2017 (Finishing Line Press). His 2nd chapbook, “I Should have Asked the Blind Girl to Dance” was published in June 2019 (Flutter Press). His full-length collection, “The Circadian Fallacy” was published this year (Kelsay Books).
