Out of Tune

Is that your music?
I was going to ask you
the same thing. You beat me
to it. Look! We watched as costumed children
walked in circles. Princess, Cowboy, Clown, Vampire,
Superman, Witch. Each with a violin,
playing their respective tune.

Tightening my strings,
the strain
nearly causes them to break.
You raise your bow as if
to strike.
Our thoughts on tempo are varied.
That’s okay; you can be
a princess;
I can be
a cowboy.

Now I’m Superman; flying; I trip
on my cape.
My violin collides with the cement.
Shards of spruce shatter across the sidewalk.
The strings are all that’s left to hold its precious neck
to what remains of the body.
Hanging by a thread, you help me to my feet.
You do not look me in the face.
Your words are mumbled.
Maybe the witch can fix it.