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Horn

John Carey

May 01 2014

1 mins

Horn

 

I look at Bernie McGann’s saxophone

left on the stand in the break between sets

inert and unresolved like a question-mark

uncoupled from a very important question

and tumbled on its back all bumps and

corrugations like its owner’s face and the same

ginger-snap colour with the sheen rubbed off

the bell gaping like a death-mask the greenish

tinge of a long wasting disease stealing

over its lips   waiting   like an old dog tied up

outside a pub for its master to shuffle out

and take it for a final lollop in the park

put it through its larrikin paces and old tricks.

 

John Carey

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