Lincoln’s Harmonica Player (Revised)
On the train to work today,
I met President Lincoln’s Harmonica Player.
She was old and dirty with grime covering her face,
And her skills had faded with time,
But she swore she played Amazing Grace at his funeral.
“I’ll never turn down a dollar,
But my account is full,” she said as passengers boarded.
“It was my music that freed the slaves,
And that is a job that pays plenty no matter how many years later.”
She blocked the aisle of the car
With her cart of plastic bags and bottles.
“Don’t scorn me,” she grumbled at the business suits.
“Or I will teach you nothing I know. And I know a lot.”
Some people laughed, others moved away.
I like history lessons, so I took a seat nearby to listen
She looked old but good for someone nearly 200 years old.
She saw her audience and readied her instrument.
Her lips glided on the harmonica for a moment,
“I need a piano. Who here has my piano?”
The other passengers ignored her,
But I oddly wished I could play–
Just to see where it might take her.
She forgot the piano and played ahead.
It didn’t sound like much more than noise,
But when she paused and rasped, “How sweet the sound . . .”
You knew she meant it.
I handed her a dollar at my stop.
She smiled and tucked it down her coat with the harmonica.
I walked the opposite direction, and heard her preach on.
She has a story to tell—-true only to her.
But I am glad I stopped to listen.
Posted on December 29th, 2008 by drevon03
Filed under: Poetry