like a piano player,
in a tony club,
a voice drowned by conversation,
the crowd indifferent to his exertions,
deaf to the twinkling ivory.
then there is always this one patron,
who raises her glass,
with a fleeting smile,
acknowledges a memory rekindled,
sometimes a tear rolls down,
of joy or sadness, hard to tell,
encouragement all the same.
some days i am that patron,
on most I am that piano man.