he's holding drumsticks and shaking tambourines,
he's one of the young men who was hauling water-logged boxes,
dressers and Christmas wreathes from the basement
a couple days ago,
now in his finest, black pants and bowtie, a white
shirt and combed hair, he's in the back of the band
running from marimba to snare drum, cymbals
to keyboard, ringing out over all the horns,
the flutes, the clarinets, they are no match for
him, this young man in the back of the band
all dressed up, and you can bet, somewhere to
go.
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