A Restless Young Man
I was a restless young man,
Presto agitato. However,
I wasn’t the head-banging sort.
For some odd reason, while
My art school classmates
Nodded to punk, the Sex Pistols
Or Redness, a Cleveland band –
Thin, ragged kids who bolted
And welded sharp steel sculptures –
Late at night, in my dorm room,
I remained quietly steadfast in
Adoration of Beethoven sonatas.
And now, forty years later,
It happens to be a Dvořák
Piano trio, which is perfect,
Which is the only music
To reflect this rare moment:
It is snowing in April, white,
White, white against green,
This small, pointless blizzard
Blends with the yellow forsythia
Blossoms, a painterly daubing
On an Impressionist’s canvas.
Maybe more akin to Debussy,
This small, pointless blizzard,
De trop in allegro obscures
Drifts of trillium unnecessarily.
David Sapp, writer, artist, and professor, is a Pushcart nominee. His poems appear widely in the United States, Canada, and the United Kingdom. His publications include chapbooks Close to Home and Two Buddha, a novel Flying Over Erie, and a book of poems and drawings titled Drawing Nirvana.