other animals

I’ve been banging my sore fingers 
on this keyboard more than forty 
years now and can still hardly carry a 
tomb or remember many standards 
and was never good with theory or 

practice and one sour slip can send me 
spiraling away from melody 
for millennia and maybe 
history or the twisted strands 

that compile me or is this just mask and 
pantomime I bleed to move on  
now and clear friends of the past know 

I will smile at the songs we shared and 
no there never was an accordion