Musical Blares
Spring concert’s gonna start real soon,
I sit here drenched in sweat.
Don’t crave the spotlight, I prefer
a night I won’t regret.
I take the back row, want to hide—
I hope I don’t forget
the way I’m ‘sposed to read the lines
of music’s alphabet.
I gnaw my licorice stick and sigh,
my fingers lined up, wet.
I miss my cue, my biggest fear—
you ain’t heard nothing yet.
And then a shriek, a squeak, a squawk
reverberated round the net
as phones record me falling flat—
I blame my clarinet.
I sit here drenched in sweat.
Don’t crave the spotlight, I prefer
a night I won’t regret.
I take the back row, want to hide—
I hope I don’t forget
the way I’m ‘sposed to read the lines
of music’s alphabet.
I gnaw my licorice stick and sigh,
my fingers lined up, wet.
I miss my cue, my biggest fear—
you ain’t heard nothing yet.
And then a shriek, a squeak, a squawk
reverberated round the net
as phones record me falling flat—
I blame my clarinet.
This poem is copyright (©) Maureen Egan 2024
About the Writer
Maureen Egan
Maureen is a member of SCBWI and Julie Hedlund’s 12 x 12 Picture Book Challenge. She studied at Highlights Foundation with Rebecca Kai Dotlich, Diana Murray and others. She wrote Insiders Guide to Richmond for Globe Pequot Press and Richmond's Culinary History (with a co-author) for The History Press and Maureen's had features in Southern Living, The Washington Post, Virginia Living, Richmond magazine and others.
