*

David Donna is a software engineer living in Somerville, and ought not to be taken seriously.

To the Man Who, When Our Elevator Reached the Top Floor, Stayed Put and Pushed the Button for the Top Floor

David Donna

I didn’t say anything,
but it’s true:
no one can prove
that God will hide forever.

Beginner

I played you like a rented saxophone:
The early shrieks, the aching cheeks, the way
We kept the neighbors up those nights alone,
The thoughtless daily price for me to pay.

You hulked between my flustered fingertips,
Your shell a maze of consequential keys—
All mute until, with braced and clueless lips,
I’d honk amiss and cringe. But by degrees

We found the tune, and studiously deft
Each day I’d reassemble you (preclude
The necky squawk whenever you were left
In pieces), set my tongue against your mood.

I got all I could ask from you, and yet
There’s more reward in singing a duet.

— David Donna

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