The
Last Lesson
We
were both surprised to see the piano run across the room and jump out
the window. The tear it made in the Persian rug was unfortunate, but it
needed to be cleaned anyway. By the time we got to the window and
looked out, we could see the piano curled up like a fox stole around
the shoulders of a man with a magnet for a hat. And it was humming a
song we had never heard before. It was beautiful, and we wept thinking
of all the money we had wasted on piano lessons.
Transformation
My love for ceiling fans unrequited
I step out into the world
to strip and bare my soul.
While the mosquitoes of anxiety
needle the night,
a breeze arrives but
too late to comfort me.
I've no intention to stay
at the bottom of the river
but it's cool
and I feel at home.
I've always wanted to be an otter,
but I can feel the catfish
coming out in me.
Bob Lucky
is an American poet, the author of Ethiopian
Time (Red Bird Chapbooks, 2014), Conversation Starters in a Language No One
Speaks (SurVision Books, 2018), and My Thology: Not Always True but Always
Truth (Cyberwit, 2019). He is currently living in Portugal.