I lean into the black keys,
Catastrophe of hasp and nail,
To underpin these plaits of rhyme–
I built it in the back yard
And waxed it in the shed,
I mixed the soundtrack in the sink
With hardware from a sled.
And now, replete with H-VAC pipe
And stools of many sizes,
I roll my sleeves and squeeze the bag
To Song of the Assizes.