Slightly Out Of Tune Firewood

My daughter stands
And plays the beat up
Finger, knuckle and elbow worn
Slightly out of tune
Vagabond
Back of the Gypsy wagon
Upright player piano
That I chanced upon
Years ago
At the curb
In front of the hippie florist
Across the river
From where I live.

I asked the colourful, lively owner
About it
And he coyly told me to take it
That I could have it for free.

“Just take it sweetie.”
He said in an effeminate voice.

“Happy to see it
Get a home
And a new life.”

I had a van at the time
And retrieved some heavy wooden planks
And two good friends.

We had no idea how heavy
That son of a bitch was.

I kept telling them that it was free
Trying to console them
But it was a huge ordeal
Just getting it loaded
Into the van.

It was an old Lester out of Philadelphia.

A Steinway wouldn’t have been at the curb
Would it?

It’s made of solid heavy mahogany
A rough looking beauty.

It bruised my soft pine floors
As we pushed and pulled it into place
Where it now sits in my living room
Vermont white pine
Permanently scarred.

The player mechanism never worked.

A few of the keys don’t work either
Emitting a soft thud
As the action fails to respond.

Two or three of them sit there
Halfway down
Derelict and silent.

In all of these years
I’ve had far greater obligations
Than to have a tuner
Come by the house and fix it.

Surely the technician would arrive
Have a good laugh
And provide me with the recommendation
That it would make better firewood.

I would inform him that it was free
And that my fireplace
Doesn’t work either...
Can he do anything about that?

Firewood would be useless to me.
At least the piano works.

My daughter plays
The dark mahogany Lester piano
In the living room
Somehow missing the ‘dead’ keys.

She’s singing as well
Her voice
Sure and strong
Whirling
Like small helicopters
Above the melody
Coming from the instrument.

The piano sounds
Exactly as it should.

I am still.

I listen.

She plays
Giving it her all
Not knowing
That
Someday...

And it will happen...

The old piano will sit silent...

Then...
I know
I will be chopping the piano up
To pieces
Wires snapping
Wood splitting
Ivory chipping.

I will be too old to go through the trouble
Of moving a complete intact Lester piano
Across soft pine floors
And through narrow doorways.

I envision it now
While she is playing her song.

This dark mahogany instrument will sit at the curb
In pieces
With a handmade sign
That says

“Free firewood.”