---

Randall Jarrell - The Player Piano
Work rating: Low

I ate pancakes one night in a Pancake House
Run by a lady my age. She was gay.
When I told her that I came from Pasadena
She laughed and said, "I lived in Pasadena
When Fatty Arbuckle drove the El Molino bus."

I felt that I had met someone from home.
No, not Pasadena, Fatty Arbuckle.
Who`s that? Oh, something that we had in common
Like — like — the false armistice. Piano rolls.
She told me her house was the first Pancake House

East of the Mississippi, and I showed her
A picture of my grandson. Going home —
Home to the hotel — I began to hum,
"Smile a while, I bid you sad adieu,
When the clouds roll back I`ll come to you."

Let`s brush our hair before we go to bed,
I say to the old friend who lives in my mirror.
I remember how I`d brush my mother`s hair
Before she bobbed it. How long has it been
Since I hit my funnybone? had a scab on my knee?

Here are Mother and Father in a photograph,
Father`s holding me…. They both look so young.
I`m so much older than they are. Look at them,
Two babies with their baby. I don`t blame you,
You weren`t old enough to know any better;

If I could I`d go back, sit down by you both,
And sign our true armistice: you weren`t to blame.
I shut my eyes and there`s our living room.
The piano`s playing something by Chopin,
And Mother and Father and their little girl

Listen. Look, the keys go down by themselves!
I go over, hold my hands out, play I play —
If only, somehow, I had learned to live!
The three of us sit watching, as my waltz
Plays itself out a half-inch from my fingers.
Source
The script ran 0.001 seconds.