Keys (Poetry)

There was this film about a piano
on the beach -
I loved that image,
knew exactly how it felt -
an outsider, standing silent
while the waves taunted,
their voices fiddling small,
stones percussive, breeze a cool bassoon,
while the lone keyboard ached,
passionately mute.

I've loitered on that shoreline half my life
waiting for someone to play me.