Thomas Matthews


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Best Poem of Thomas Matthews

The Orchestra

IT’S almost certain;
Every time I travel into the city to hear the orchestra play,
I end up entangled with the maestro,
No, not the person,
For I never have met the fellow,
But his hands and the way that they move,
The way they players strike their bows across the strings,
All according to a simple snap of his wrist,
Or the lifting of his forearm,
And if I was in an orchestra,
Which I am in a way,
(those are matters for another time)
I would be right under his nose,
Playing first chair cello.

©2011 Thomas Matthews

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