dreams of becoming a piano 

the doors to the steinway piono store on 6th avenue 
are automatic. they open & shut as everyone migrates
towards some kind of train. i don't stop
but every day i walk slower. the walls are glass.
the piano take up so much space. if the pianos 
were walking down the street they would
push everything to the side. the store floor
is glistening white. a sales person stands 
in all black just like the pianos. they are in a sense
a kind of piano--with all their stoicism
& all their watching. no one is buying a piano it seems
at 5pm in new york city but maybe i'm wrong
maybe that does in fact happen sometimes.
i tried to learn piano for a few weeks in high school.
my dad bought me a keyboard. i can't help 
but think of the keys like a mouth.
i opened my mouth for a lover once
after i told him i have too crooked teeth 
to be married. he touched them with his 
index finger. i wanted to 
give him rubber gloves so he could
feel around more. whose mouth though
is the piano? if i walked inside the store
would they believe me if i told them 
i want to buy a piano? it would be hilarious 
to watch me trying to shove a piano 
up into my tiny apartment. it would
take up my whole bedroom. 
this is what i'm saying--
these pianos can spread out.
they have air conditioning & wide glass windows.
my house doesn't have either of those things.
i want to walk into the store
not to buy one but to become one.
i'll get on my knees & ask for
a man to come play me gently. 
his fingers in my mouth
in front of everyone. i've been
trying to figure out how
i'm going to survive in this city.
i have been trying to convince
someone else to take care of me.
i'll be anyone's sugar baby
though i'm not that fun or beautiful. 
from now on i will try saying 
i am not a boy i am a very expensive piano.
the stop light changes 
& a crossing guard ushers our herd 
across the street leaving the steinway store
to glimmer on its own. 
i guess that expensive part is important:
i can't be any piano i have to be 
the best piano. a piano with 
its own bedroom. i hope the employees
play those pianos sometimes.
i guess i'd like to touch them too.
i see pianos everywhere lately.
in bryant park. on a crosswalk.
i tell the piano to hurry before the traffic comes.
i am sadly not a piano 
despite my efforts but on the right days
around dusk i am a musical instrument.
the air in august can turn cool 
in the dark.