Andante Afternoon
by John Davis
A thirty-something dad with bushy hair
wearing jeans and a black hoodie
is carrying his son over his shoulder.
I have seen violinists
bend forward and back tucking
their fiddles under their chins
nuzzling them like a child, humming
soft tones, shouldering music.
This is the way the dad carries
his son, holding the small body
as if blowing long tones before playing
the Brandenberg Concerto, nodding
the rhythm into his frame.
So carefully he plays the notes
of the piece he has perfected
his eyebrows thin and soft
while sunlight warms his violin.
wearing jeans and a black hoodie
is carrying his son over his shoulder.
I have seen violinists
bend forward and back tucking
their fiddles under their chins
nuzzling them like a child, humming
soft tones, shouldering music.
This is the way the dad carries
his son, holding the small body
as if blowing long tones before playing
the Brandenberg Concerto, nodding
the rhythm into his frame.
So carefully he plays the notes
of the piece he has perfected
his eyebrows thin and soft
while sunlight warms his violin.
Living on an island near Seattle, John Davis is the author of Gigs (Sol Books), Guard the Dead (Flat Sole Studio) and a chapbook, The Reservist. He adores peaches, hiking and kayaking. He merges the glory of blackberry pies with stinging nettle soup. The chase is on with rabbits nibbling his chives and beans in his garden. Broccoli is a lost cause as are carrots and kale. A retired teacher, he moonlights in blues and rock ‘n’ roll bands. He has published over 500 poems in magazines that include DMQ Review, Harpur Palate, Iron Horse Literary Review, One and Terrain.org.