© 2019 Tapestry, Annual TAMUK Women & Gender Studies Journal

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William D. Mainous II

A Few Guesses Why . . . 

A few guesses why Dad quit writing poetry years ago.

Maybe it became a pest causing calluses on his hands.

Life, voluble and ravenous gives more than it takes.

Maybe bad criticism from some pompous ass? Well,

those academic bums couldn’t tell a nut from a bolt.

A few guesses why Dad quit writing poetry years ago.

 

Time is measureless, fleeting, and demands too much

well, time is an illusion and as useful as big government.

A few guesses why Dad quit writing poetry years ago.

 

Fate? Yes that’s it fate stole away poetry. Booyah

I mean, grrrrr! Fate is good or bad, shit varies I guess.

Life voluble and ravenous gives more than it takes.

Or maybe love? Oh well, to hell with that Donnybrook

I know a few who’d be lucky not to reap what they sow.

Life voluble and ravenous gives more than it takes.

 

Critics, time, fate, love, pretty dull stuff, huh? Takes the

fun outta life I wish it didn’t but hey, all is fair, I guess.

A few guesses why Dad quit writing poetry years ago.

Life voluble and ravenous gives more than takes.

 

Exodus

Sound of the ruffling of sheet music can be heard throughout the room as he searches for the

hymn and notes, he wants, he sits, begins to play. 

The house is quiet. Time: six eights in ‘G’ major.

Notes, [ Da-la — Fa-da / Da-la — Fa-fa]

Voice, “Now don’t fool with the piano!

Your parents spent a lot to get that lovely, lovely instrument here, they said no playing it ever.

It’s for showing not for you to have fun with.

Think you’ll write a great symphony, sure?

Get yourself upstairs and do your homework.

The future is in academics not music.” Leaving the piano, his seat and sheet music behind

lowering his head. He walks away quietly.

 

Lana at Royce Hall

Waiting my brother must be going mad.

No way anyone could've known.

But this will be his crowning glory.

Soon he would go blind but tonight

he captures heaven, and puts it on display. 

Soon Huntington's would drag us all to a darkness

yet, tonight is the seed that will triumph his death.

By his own hands he plants.

Royce is full as the orchestra's finale begins 
the violins come first with their lovely softness 
flutes and other winds herald the sweetness waiting.

 

My brother must be going mad no way could he enjoy this besides.

He regarded these as the lesser instruments.

He wants to rush in and take the lead but now patience must reign.

I remember watching him when we were kids

our parents pushed him away from music

but with music he is alive without is like death.


It is a practice of life, death, and resurrection.
Finally the piano enters. He brings that eternal 
morning and plays Beethoven's 'Ode to Joy’.