piano lessons

even then she smelled old
beside us.
a walking antique. musty.
her cloak, her crocodile hands
with pointed nails,
her long
heavy dress draped
upon her slender
silhouette, those boots
laced.

the perfume seemed
permanent
on her floured cheeks,

those silvered lips outside
the lines.

come sit beside me, she'd
say.
tell me about your day.

oh how she loved liberace,
his candelabras
his grande piano,
his silk white suits
and glorious bouffant of hair.

he's wonderful, she'd say,
staring into the black and white
screen,
eating melba toast and tea.
cursing all along the kennedys.

maybe one day you can learn
to play.
perhaps i'll teach you if your
father ever buys
a piano.

but he doesn't make much money
does he?