Tom Cullen

They storm the folding chairs early, in the late
Afternoon. Wearing black dresses and white vests
They clutch black cases to their breasts.
An orchestra gathers to play a date.
They unpack the instruments and fiddle
With sheet music, say hello, and drink coffee
Read the papers, eat chocolates and toffee
Horns honk, The geese fly to the middle

Of the lake. While the trombones and trumpets
Argue the key, the woodwinds whistle, and
Strings moan and sigh. People tote bread and wine
In picnic baskets and spread their blankets.
Up on the grandstand the baton in hand
A down stroke and the sounds Intertwine.