Walking Music Poem by Stan Petrovich

Celestial strains above
My walking frame
The pavement is a keyboard
And I dance a scale;
They will not rent me a piano
Because not such a thing
Is done. I want
To play, to exaggerate
My feelings with sound,
Make my world round,
Harmonize in E major
To flatten the enemies
Of peace. The stranger who looked at me
Twice, painting his eyes through
My nerve centre and lost
Betrayal of mind.

No one is kind.
Not the King;
Not my hands:
They have nowhere to dance.