The Keys || by Christian Garduno

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I used to play that old piano in your living room
the one that was two hundred years old and had about 45 keys missing
and I’d sing terribly off-key to an off-key piano
about that one bird that flew North instead of South
it was really just inversions of C and F
the only chords I knew at the time

The memory struck me—how keyed up we’d get singing at that old piano
we’d take a break and you’d say-damn, you wrote that? It’s not half bad
that’s better than most of the stuff you hear on the radio these days
and you’d elbow my ribs and ask when I was going to get serious about writing songs
I’d take a swig and say I really don’t know
I was kinda just making it up as I went along

I drove by that old place of yours the day before yesterday
it was painted bright blue, the garage was fixed, and a new dog was in the yard
I guess you packed up and moved on
well, maybe you flew North instead of South
and right then, I realized in my pocket
I still had the keys to your door that was there no more

Image Credit: ©Tomas Castano (Old Piano)

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MEET THE POET

CHRISTIAN GARDUNO’s work can be read in over 100 literary magazines. He is the recipient of the 2019 national Willie Morris Award for Southern Poetry and a Finalist in the 2020-2021 Tennessee Williams & New Orleans Writing Contest. He lives and writes along the South Texas coast with his wonderful wife Nahemie and young son Dylan. His debut poetry chapbook, “Lightning in Your Room”, is available from Guerrilla Genesis Press.