I, Piano Bench

Rest your playful,



 on me

Be careful not to expand

 so widely as support of your backbone

  is not available

Dare not treat my disfigurement

 as a hindrance to your talent

For without me

 you will lack the honor of joining

  the tickled ivories

that speak when you rest your playful,



on them

Close your eyes and sway

 from side to side

Knowing all along that you can glide

 on me to the left and to the right

Almost as if I am tickling you

  with all my might

The Park and Press are relatives of mine

  Either brings ease to the vulnerable spine

   How kind without a fine

 Yet who walks the finer line?

Never to be exposed in such

    an archaic fashion

the melodies played and created on me

   sometime deserve a tongue lashing

Though in a concert hall

It shows me grander

    than them all

Safer to not add wheels

  Shame to anyone wanting me in the

Court of Appeals

Surely their names do change

to engulf the willing

The composer’s mind derange

and takes the artist’s girth a milling

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