saxopoem

To expand my tiny heart

I go to the woodshed.

In an expression of empathy

with everything awkward,

I take in air

and let loose through the brass

bell of a soprano saxophone.

When my embrochure squeaks

I wrinkle my brow

to feign intensity.

Hoping to claim a serpentine charm

I begin each hour's lurch

with a long single note,

alone in a minaret

I call myself to prayer.

In tremolo,

I imagine legions of men

dropping the walls of our stubborn

private Jericho.

Brothers in circles playing

saxophones to learn what moods swing

when we come home from work.

Brothers playing saxophones

in compassionate schools.

Mentors humming harmony, as

the I am responsible reed section

mixes courage, saxophoning and air, 

expanding

the practised hearts

of men.