The sousaphones have finally arrived
bringing sunflower seeds
and those small half-size cans
of Diet Coke.
And the trumpets tease them on their tardiness
(though they too were late, but that doesn’t need to be mentioned)
while the snares and bass drums finish their stretching as a group.
The clarinets, pompous and legislative as they are, have long
since finished preparing,
and now wait in impatient whisperings
gossiping
about the recent abhorent changes to the already awful zoning
that requires a drive halfway across town to give the children
an even half decent shot at getting into Harvard
because we’re a Harvard family and of course she’ll have to go to Harvard too.
The alto saxophones have wandered off to who knows where
and the two oboes have been sent to find them.
The flutes are all older men, and they shoot dice and brag about their grandkids
and they rotate on who brings the smokes each week.
Today, one of the bassoons is showing the trombones a card trick
but really it is just a distraction so that sweet little Annie (who is the daughter of a euphonium)
can put whoopie cushions in all of their seats.
They will pretend not to notice when they return to their places,
and the whole band will laugh with Annie
until the conductor readies his baton with a restrained grin,
though the gleam in his eyes betrays his rigid posture,
and the whole world will hover on the silence after that initial breath in
and rejoice at the unity that spreads out in every direction
greeting all things with a triumphant hello.