A Poem by Holly Day
There is safety in cellos and pianos and tubas, in that
you almost never see some homeless man slumped over either.
It’s always a violinist or an accordion player slumped under a lightpost
a guitar player with their case full of loose change, a saxophonist
wrapped protectively around their instrument, even in sleep.
I imagine that if you were a homeless cello player,
you could curl up in the case on rainy nights, prop your cello
up in some shadowed alley where only cats and stray dogs
would stumble on it. And a grand piano, while not exactly portable
has plenty of room for shelter beneath the lid, or better yet
space for a man to stretch out in a huddle of blankets underneath.