Post a Poem

[Gopher Gary]

Practicing
by Linda Pastan

My son is practicing the piano.
He is a man now, not the boy
whose lessons I once sat through,
whose reluctant practicing
I demanded—part of the obligation
I felt to the growth
and composition of a child.

Upstairs my grandchildren are sleeping,
though they complained earlier of the music
which rises like smoke up through the floorboards,
coloring the fabric of their dreams.
On the porch my husband watches the garden fade
into summer twilight, flower by flower;
it must be a little like listening to the fading

diminuendo notes of Mozart.
But here where the dining room table
has been pushed aside to make room
for this second or third-hand upright,
my son is playing the kind of music
it took him all these years,
and sons of his own, to want to make.




"Practicing" by Linda Pastan, from The Last Uncle.

[Parts]

    There once was a woman named Jill,
    Tried a dynamite stick for the thrill,
    They found her vagina,
    In South Carolina,
    And bits of her tits in Brazil!

[Jack]

Practicing
by Linda Pastan

My son is practicing the piano.
He is a man now, not the boy
whose lessons I once sat through,
whose reluctant practicing
I demanded—part of the obligation
I felt to the growth
and composition of a child.

Upstairs my grandchildren are sleeping,
though they complained earlier of the music
which rises like smoke up through the floorboards,
coloring the fabric of their dreams.
On the porch my husband watches the garden fade
into summer twilight, flower by flower;
it must be a little like listening to the fading

diminuendo notes of Mozart.
But here where the dining room table
has been pushed aside to make room
for this second or third-hand upright,
my son is playing the kind of music
it took him all these years,
and sons of his own, to want to make.




"Practicing" by Linda Pastan, from The Last Uncle.

Is that your own poem, or are you just posting a poem?

[Jack]

Oh, looked it up; nevermind.

[Semicolon]

    There once was a woman named Jill,
    Tried a dynamite stick for the thrill,
    They found her vagina,
    In South Carolina,
    And bits of her tits in Brazil!

There was an old bugger named Parts
Who turned his back on a game of lawn darts
He took one in the ass,
Felt he had to pass gas,
And he let out a bifurcate fart.

I wrote it myself.