Orchestral Fantasies Poem by Gary Witt

I.

Two, please,
In the loge—
Partially obstructed
if possible.

II.

Playing the voice coach
and his favorite soprano.
From backstage
I urge her on
to the E above high C.

III.

Thigh to thigh
On the bench
With the organist.
My feet gently manipulate
her pedals, as she
pulls out all the stops
for a fugue in D minor.

IV.

Ménage á trois with
French and English horns.

A peccadillo (or two)
with the second piccolo.

Euphoria with
the euphonium.

Rumors concerning
the oboist and
her embouchure are
decidedly true.

V.

Oh, how I envy her cello!
I long to feel the tension
of her bow across my strings
during that final movement.

VI.

As she turns her back
on the piano,
her eyes meet mine;
all the notes
in an octave and a half
play at once.
Sustained.

VII.

Lady tubist, wrists tied
with red ribbon,
blindfolded and
tickled from behind
to an involuntary glissando.

VIII.

She gasps
as I raise the lid
on her harpsichord
and begin to adjust
her plectrum.

IX.

Timpani rolling,
Thundering crescendo,
Cymbals crash
Mallet strikes chimes
Percussion and passion
Palpating
Presto, presto
With an innocent final note
From the triangle.