morgan at the station says i have a present for you
sitting in the squeakiest brown leather task chair in the world, grey hair
a mess on his forehead, slack cheeks tighten with a smile as he
reaches into the second drawer of his green steel desk
then pauses and asks:
do you play music, amy? do you have a band?
no, i say, no band. morgan thinks a minute, then
but you live with anne, right? and she has a band?
i live with anne i say yes
he pulls his hand from the drawer and
hands me a cowbell he says
you can be in anne’s band
now, can you play cowbell?
yes i say
morgan smiles that smile again, so grateful, grey eyes
shine and i say
yes
i can play cowbell morgan thanks.
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