No One Hears Me

KITCHEN DRUMMER

some play with finesse
pulling rhythms from clouds
brushing feathers across
tight skins that sing
subtle songs percussed

and others strike fiercely
with strong sticks
or bleeding hands
daring us to dance
to their complicated
syncopations

I pull out my pots and pans
from the cabinet underneath
the kitchen counter
where my coffee pot claims
the best seat

and I bang on the lids
and twirl my wooden spoon
beating out the rhythms
of my own life in songs
my concert for one

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