they called me at five in the morning
they needed help
the old couple in the yellow house on the corner
they wanted to throw a piano out of the window

the old man said early in the spring
when the air was damp and fresh
the keys would stick in the higher octaves
and that bass pedal would hammer badly

his wife liked to play
years ago when her hands were supple
when his heart was open and free
her music could pick him up from the floor
and carry him off to bed

it was a canopy bed
and the last notes of her melodies
would fill the room for their lovemaking

the damn thing sat in the living room
an ebony coffin holding only lost times
and songs with the words missing

they needed the space
they needed to see the floor again
they needed to cross the room in a direct line
they needed me

we pushed and dragged and scored the maple floors
with the rusting casters of the beast
it reached the window just fine
I only felt one vertebrae pop
as I nudged it over the sill

it tumbled over leaving only a few white teeth on the floor
the wind caught the strings
and the pavement played a quick medley
before the whole thing ended

I don't visit my neighbors anymore
they always need me for something
they keep throwing things out of the windows
that they can't keep...or don't want...or won't work

maybe they don't know
that music isn't anything you can get rid of so easily

maybe I'm not old enough yet
to understand
the true weight of pianos

                                       © Chuck Beals