Better

The long slide, far too heavy for me.
The shining brass, so easy to dent.
The holds, leaving my gasping for breath.
It’s too hot to play brass today.

The stands, filled with art.
The sun, burning bright.
The tent, with instruments to try.
Let’s go over there.

The glossy wood, so beautiful.
The shining bow, light and smooth.
The notes that vibrate into the ground.
This is better than trombone.

The room, chaotic and loud.
The music, two pages longer than I’ve ever played.
The chairs, near impossible to walk through.
I’m going to be the worst.

The first smile is from a stranger.
The second, my stand partner, soon follows.
The third is my own as I unpack my cello.
Maybe, just maybe, I can live with this.