The Trombonist

To Josef…and his Mother

The tall young teenage man

Stood straight and soaring

Among his peers.

Wearing a Black bowtie

And a crisp white shirt

And holding a golden Trombone.

The drumbeat began

And that tall young

Teenage man

Began

To play that trombone.

There were two trumpeters

A tuba

And a French horn

But the trombone filled

The gym

With the warmth and grace

That could only come

From within

That tall, proud, young teenage man.

He was playing the trombone

Not just with his fingers,

And not just with his mouth,

But with his whole soul.

His smile dazzled the building,

As though a star had fallen

Upon the street outside

And he had been

The first to see it

Shine.

He was no longer

Just another teenager.

He was a star.

His mother craned her neck

To meet my eyes

And said with becoming pride,

“See why I’m so proud

Of my son?”