Orchestra Poem

Here is an afterthought from the concert the other night.
The World is a Sound
From the bulbous innards of trombones
and from the sinuous caverns of bass fiddles.
From the lithe length of the flute and the
apologetic slant of the bass fiddle, treading
on everyone’s toes, the orchestra
plays the world. This no doubt
is the sound of the first day:
the conductor scraping his baton
on the podium, the guys in percussion
drumming their fingers on the pages,
impatient for the day to begin.