Bum trumpet

I can’t play a musical instrument
but I pat my stomach like a bongo most days.
I remember when my ribs were xylophones.
I have a bum trumpet and pianoless piano fingers.
My toes are floorboard drumsticks,
my elbows are delicate triangles
and my armpit hairs vibrate like guitar strings.
My eyes feel like bass drums, battered every
second of the day. When I close them at night
I hear cymbals.

© Carl Burkitt 2020

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