possessed of nothing more musical than our north Wyoming drawl we trooped each September into
the band room where Mr. Little twirped and pantomimed us through classical horror
and taught us to tune up

we learned to open spit valves
     and crawl through safety-pinned uniforms to
     our concerts

during football season we dragged Sousa the length of the field
   (the second-stringers marching in their cleats)



 for the Christmas concert, we tossed sound carelessly
at the rafters and I played Celito Lindo all by myself  -- except for Donna on the piano

(she was the only one who held her music with love
and i hear she lost her touch in childbirth)