Nobody Expects a Piano

Nobody expects a piano.

It started with a minuscule shadow on the sidewalk.
You weren't even looking for love, and then, whoosh!
There she was, charming and blonde and callipygian.

The shadow grew so much more quickly than shadows ought to grow.
We are accustomed to the evenings falling fast here.
After supper you can usually only play outside for an hour or so,
And you can watch the darkness at your feet
Lengthen from a figure of your own height into a horizontal giant.
But this was different.

She was honey-colored and melodious
(Or was that melody just the whistle,
The rush of air, falling pitch and prophetic crescendo?)
Whatever it was, you listened, transfixed.
You loved her, no reservations,
Not even three in the afternoon, and nobody expected it.

You stared at the ground
At that sliver of black, expanding like the universe
(Except that this time the bang came afterward.)
The note in your hands read,
"I am flying to Prague or driving to New Mexico.
It doesn't matter which.
Goodbye."
And that was all.

You never saw it coming; she had seemed so happy.
It came from a window on the seventh story,
And you stood as the shadow grew at your feet,
Soon over your feet and knees and then,

It happened faster than anybody could have guessed.
The piano landed squarely on your head with a great smash.
We ran towards you, tripping over b-flat minors strewn on the sidewalk,
And for half a minute thereafter, we could hear
The percussive jangling of splayed keys, hammers, and strings.