We tried to save you with small ads.

Free to good home, must collect

but nobody called.

 

We tried schools and churches,

community centres,

but none were prepared to accommodate you.

No room for the past,

no use for tradition,

and each back turned

was another key condemned.

 

Once we dragged you a hundred miles north,

and later a hundred back,

my faithful friend as I learnt how to play,

from Three Blind Mice

to Für Elise and the Nut Rocker.

 

But for years you stood,

lid down, barely touched,

except by the clumsy fists of children,

bashing a blind fortissimo,

untroubled by rhythm or melody,

unaware that every good boy deserves favour.

 

For years you stood,

an obstacle,

an inconvenience,

silently slipping out of tune.

 

It fell to me to strike the killing blow,

consign you to the fate we’d tried to swerve.

Behind the crack of splintering walnut

I could hear a heart

breaking.

 

This is the title poem from my pamphlet, 'Killing the Piano', published by Half Moon Books. It also appeared in The Poets Republic Issue 5.