Hand Span

It's not good for a man

to be alone,

except at the piano.

If your right hand offend thee

add a bass note.

Strolling blues,

the envy of angels,

hand span halleluiahs

crimp demons, double octaves

chase the devil from chorus

to coda.

Exchange the time clock

for a metronome

and you're home on seven

continents.

Bars and spaces

frame the soul,

long dead Europeans

and ghetto saints

lay out the truth

on black and white

keys to the kingdom. 

If Mama made you play

thank her today,

if she didn't,

she will.

Nickels and Dimes

Certain strengths from bone

to age depart.

The grip is tenuous,

shifting the cup

from His Hands,

"Take and drink..."

Swallow pride to commune,

no pinkie promise,

this is cross your heart

and guard the changed contents,

water to wine,

beauty for ashes,

house boy to husband,

tattooed roses for thorns.

Our betraying kiss is

wiped Maybelline clean,

the rooster stilled at dawn.

Grace is the refill,

a warmer, fresh brewed,

the breakfast croissant

broken for you

and for many,

baskets of biscuits and crumbs

gathered here together, worth more

than many sparrows

and sums.

Abandoned headlines and folded news

obscure an anonymous  

spread of coins 

on coffee stained formica.

Just enough change

to call home,

collect.