Trumpet Voice Poem by Aury Cecile

I live to hear my father sing
People come
Far and wide
Gathering like anchovies in a can
To hear his deep, trumpet voice

My father burns a record
Neighbors and friends
Float from their lonely birdhouses
To hear his deep, trumpet voice

My father records a tape
The family sits in the living room
Under the golden chandelier
To hear his deep, trumpet voice

My father has a CD
My brother and I sit in my room
Playing Parcheesi
We open the player
To hear his deep, trumpet voice

I lie on the city bus
One seat for my head
The other for my feet
I turn on my small, silver iPod
And zone out from the world
To hear his deep, trumpet voice