Circus Band

Three musicians mourn
the death of the old brown bear,
have written an entire song
dedicated to him
that unfolds across the audience

slow and plodding.
The tuba player kisses the horn
like an expert–
the guitarist wears no shirt sleeves
leather suspenders touch bare shoulders
his snake tattoo undulating
as he rides the song.

It ends, merges into another,
a livelier tune and the accordion player
pumps his arms, works the audience
with his bushy hair, serious eyes,
notes flying out,
the promise of a sweaty lover.

The song winds down
the lights go dim,
off to the distance
they crank an old gramophone,
the crackly sound of a woman’s voice
blankets the audience,
is it Edith Piaf?

Dark moments of smoky silence follow
until the tuba player thrusts the band
back into motion,
the accordion leads
a frenzied polka that pounds
and swirls, seems unending:
screeches to a halt.

Suddenly I am longing
for that brown bear,
old love songs from the 50s,
someone’s bare arms around me,
a heart to call home.