one morning, he tried to wake her
but she would not move.
she told him her body felt
like a pile of rocks;
a mound of rubble collecting in his sheets.
he tried his best to shift her
but she was too heavy to lift.
he called the fire brigade
and the flying doctors and ASIO but
it was the piano movers who came.
they brought a crane in,
strapped guy ropes around her waist
and lifted her through the window
like an old
tag1
but grandiose piano.
she’s sitting in the workshop now,
gathering dust and mould;
queuing to be re-tuned.
Izzy Roberts-Orr
