DR. HOUSE IS PLAYING THE PIANO
Sunday, a monthly chore,
lunch I knocked on Cuddy’s door.
Doctor, come along with me.
something you have got to see!”
at me and slightly frowned,
me without a sound.
tell she didn’t want to go,
had to act “the boss”, you know?
near her shoulder as a guide,
the hallways at my side.
door I winked with a knowing grin.
was a question, but we walked in.
was a cavern, the lights were low,
echoed soft and slow.
or bright, but a minor key,
two seats in the very last row
to the music’s flow.
you caress the old keyboard,
gave a magic lilt to the chord.
heard you play before, for years!
hear it again brought a flood of tears.
stared into my eyes,
was blurred with her surprise.
we saw upon your face,
of pain and blessed with grace.
strains suffused the air
danced on chestnut hair.
my breath as your soul soared,
artist’s fingers on the board.
watched your hands, she smiled at me.
transformed both her and me.
won, some battles lost,
spend lifetimes counting cost.
man had flown away;
was no crippled leg that day.
sat delighted, enthralled, beguiled,
came up and you actually smiled.
you smiled, you scanned the room.
us watching from the gloom.
dropped down. Controlled. Strong-willed.
bolted. The music stilled.
with effort and grasped the cane,
once more halting. Lame.
was temporary, it seems.
hearts transfixed by lovely dreams.
thing we heard were your steps on the floor,
of the cane, the slam of the door.
you Monday, in your office alone,
on your chest, a hand on the phone.
pale with pain, stubborn as a mule,
leg propped high on the black leather stool.
were low, the desk lamp only.
but a mystery:
lesson in Lonely!
* * *