C major
Tonight I played - no, no, do not laugh or mock - Pachelbel, with Rhiannon.
She got the music from amongst the horde of music book-array-in-uproar;
G major
I know the sequence, played tonic triads with the bass, in fugue and canon.
She played the melody in a sort of quiet, tropical equilibrium, to bore
A minor
through into the warm, inert night air; then, at a later time, the song begins to appear...
‘Oh, the bird, pretty bird, will you sing for now, will you sing, just a petite melody’,
E minor
quivering in crotchets and semiquavers, increasing in tempo and tear.
The mathematics book; linear equations, ratio, proportion; you don’t know, you told me.
F major
Neither do I in entirety, sweetheart; then we went through the book, with care
in explanation, trying to make sure you have good grasp of the work that you must know
C major
to prepare for your life in the out-reaching world, open and often tough there,
that we wait for, but I know that with chess, piano, now clarinet, you can grow.
F major
At the back, we talked about the problems; your knowledge now rich in growth and hue.
I got my beer from the fridge, happy in the knowledge you came to me to talk, to try
G major
to impart an element of your learning life, to tell me the things that are important to you.
Then Henry came to ask me about a Lego cruiser in the Star Wars fleet he wants to buy.
Coda
He went to bed; in binti room, glued to a TV, unseen, unthinking, Mum asleep.
