Party Piece

I haven't written any poems for quite a while,  resting after the intensity of the OU course in Creative Writing, and this year's Napowrimo which seemed to have sucked me dry.  But this morning a painting of Acker Bilk by my friend Jocelyn Gilfoyle prompted a memory of my Dad, which needed to be recorded.  He had a great love of instrumental music especially brass bands, which were unappealing to me as a child - after the first few tracks I'd usually had enough.  But I loved the novelty of him coaxing music out of his cornet, just by pursing his lips and blowing, 


It only came out at Christmas,
The scuffed black case with its puffy silk lining,
The tarnished brass cornet nestled safe inside.
Each year his girls would ask him to play
His party piece at the family gathering,
Amazed that his puckered lips could draw 
Sweet notes from this unassuming instrument.
He'd always start with an apology for being rusty,
But once the first few wavering notes were tested
He blew strong and loud, and for a while
He was back in the Boys Brigade Brass Band
Belting out their repertoire as they marched to church.
If he closed his eyes he was Herb Alpert, 
Jamming Aranjuez with the Tijuana Brass,
He was bowler-hatted Acker Bilk, 
Playing Stranger on the Shore.

© Copyright 2025. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved

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