Come play this old piano

“I am that old piano…”

You know the one I mean,

That’s propped up pints

On raucous nights…

A drunken, ribald scene.

Some found the keys

Beneath my lid

Would play a tune or two,

But there were always other bars

That had a better view.

Those tuneless bellows,

tortured chords

And hands like hammer blows.

“Yes, even old pianos hurt,

But nothing ever shows.”

Some understanding

Would be nice,

But that’s a different song,

No heavy-handed thumper

Could make me play along.

My pedals marked

By hobnail boots,

My ivories cracked and brown,

But I give more in one small note

Than anyone in town.

So grace my corner

With your chair

And play me if you must,

It’s better than a silent grave

gathering worms and dust.

Play honky-tonk,

Or jazz or blues,

Beat your rhythm on the floor,

Spill your beer, and ash and spit

And stagger out the door.

“Do pianos dream?”,

I hear you ask,

Of fingers soft and sweet;

Of Siren sounds and ruby lips

And stockinged, dancing feet?

Such hands once found me

all alone,

A smile caressed my keys,

None had ever touched me so,

Voice floating like a breeze.

But she mistook me

For her love,

My chords soon to neglect,

She’d played my deepest feelings

Though only danced respect.

And every night

at opening time

I search for her in vain

Amongst a throng of faces

Who cannot know my pain.

So tonight come play

This old piano,

Before you drink too much,

He’s lost more than you’d ever know,

Please remind him of her touch.