The Confessions of a Sophomore Bandie


I use mallets sometimes,

Though I'm not in Pit.

I feel the beat and –

"Tag, you're it!"

The freshman shouts

Out loud to me –

In Oboe-Land,

I dream. I see –

The reed is wet;

Slides into place.

I like the feel,

But love the taste

Of sweet revenge –

A rival down:

He quits band in shame,

But there's no frown.

I'm glaring at

The sixteenth notes

Upon the music

Chopin wrote –

I look at them,

They laugh at me –

I struggle to play

Their melody…

I've entered the castle

And saved the dragon –

While I'm at it,

I'll slay the maiden.

I'm out of tune –

Oh, sorry, my bad.

Some days I swear

I'm going mad…

Some wonder about

An oboists' brain,

But they don't understand

That we're