Coat Hangers in an Empty Closet
by Douglas Woody Woodsum
Someone hammered something so thin
It could not help but bend and hang
And did it again and again until
A keyboard made of wires seems suspended
Or a chopped harp. Maybe the butcher
Of woodwinds did it, preferring the ring
Ting, tinsel and tang of metal.
Maybe the mad alchemist turned
His own bones to brass then hired
Me to strum his dangling ribs.
Frost says a thing or two about desire
Fire and ice, like most poets do.
But you clothed them one by one
Led them to the door, said farewell
Then dressed and took your leave as well
Leaving me this emaciated xylophone.