MR. SOCKSAPHONE
Several years ago, part of an old saxophone
made its way to Tom's 'inventory pile'.
That shiny swoop of polished brass
has been patiently waiting for Tom
to begin making his gift for a special friend
who plays the saxophone with
incredible beauty and grace.
Michael is an amazing musician and a poet
who always plays in his stocking feet.
He used to just wear everyday
black 'gold toe' socks.
The first time Margaret heard him play, she knew
that this extraordinary man needed
some extraordinary socks
to compliment his inspiring jazz melodies.
And, so, commenced the search
for the perfect attire for those special toes.
When Tom finally finished
Michael's birthday surprise sculpture,
it, of course, included a pair of
extra special, extra flashy jazzy socks.
Mr. Socksaphone and Michael
Saxophone Fantasy
When the old man wore his cream-colored suit,
his crocodile shoes and cockatoo-green silk tie
(cinch for the collar of his freshly minted shirt),
the shop girls swirled around like parasols
on a sunny boulevard, and smiled. A subtle
cologne he bought put lights in their eyes,
but they were surprised on leaving the store
to find him there on the corner, giving breath
to the golden instrument-the tenor it was,
the horn that speaks to a passionate heart.
Who was the one who called it obscene,
that swerve of the horn curved upward
with daisies she put in the bell like a vase?
Who was that dark one leaning against
the brick wall, smoothing her skirt as she
held up the building? And was there yet
a third one joining this chorus of sighs?
"Old man, old man", she cried. (What was
her name? Can't we make that our refrain?)
Who was this merry one wearing his hat?
"Old man," she sighed, "my sweet old darling,
where'd you learn to play like that?"
--Michael Stillman
Thank you for sharing your poem, Michael.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY!
Yours Truly,
JUNIOR BOY
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