no tuba today

bigband plays jazz, but Noel doesn’t love it
tuba he plays has a sound of director
none of his own, and the worst thing about it – 
noone has properly checked her

eyes on the note stand make Noel disheartened – 
he cannot bear meeting gaze of a listener
he wasn’t born for this whole kindergarten, 
paying his bills like a prisoner

what he was born for is space meditations, 
clarinet operas, avant-garde rhythm
proudly admiring his latest creations, 
aching for musical freedom

after rehearsals there’s family waiting, 
students and chores, and repairs, and litter
only concertos that Noel’s creating
sound pretty gloomy and bitter