Alone

The lonely rain can wet the driest of hearts when there's an accordian in the room. You start thinking you're an old man serenading a bowl of pasta over wine, and your cigarette is never unlit. You wander into thoughts about your Mama and the way she used to cook without a conscience. You get hungry for lovers you never thought you needed. With an accordian, you can waltz all over the house. Play it in the shower, for the baby next door. Read the notes on the principal's fridge while the instrument mourns from your chest. Watch your hair curl in the mirror while the meatballs cook; there will be garlic tonight.