Playing Hymns
Where two apples rot in the fridge drawer
an echo, muffled by some Tupperware,
crawls under the swinging door
from the upright in the dining room.
Solemn chords of a death march
descend and ascend
until the learner hits a sour note
and goes back two bars.
Rest.
The fridge gurgles again.
A door slams on the far side
of the duplex.
He plays it right only on the third try.
The fridge rattles to a halt.