Putting on the Ritz

Putting on the Ritz

It is the violin

As close to a mood as an instrument

Pulling the heartstrings

The sorrowful urge to listen

The chatter of background noise

A prelude to awkward questions

Whenever people wonder

At my absence from the present

Drifting away is an adventure

In composition

Nothing happens without reference

To an underlying emotion

Grieving is a solitary exercise

Even in company,

Downing afternoon delights

Drowning inconvenient truths

In martini cocktails

Sharing the past with old jokes

As protection against damage

Wearing a second skin as armour

Afraid of dark magic breaking down

The halo effect

As the music swells

Louder than a conversation

It is easier to breathe through a lament

Waiting for the coda

Repeating the refrain

It is no wonder I am a drummer

Beating out the blues

Finding some razmataz in off beats

And freeform jazz

There is release

In an explosion of endorphins

The heart keeps pace

With the time change

There is so much space

In an adagio

With every single boom

Of the bass drum

The violin loses preeminence

There is a running battle

With the woodwind

Until the rhythm section

Finds its feet with a tilt of the hi-hat

And I am free to return

The conversation has moved on

Subject to change

Strange are the ways

Of soirees

An afternoon at the Ritz

Is an allegro with a cadence

Of menace and resolve

With no real-time built-in for

Musical architecture

Which is what I suspected

All along.