Bohemian Sundays

On Sunday afternoons

I crank the Victrola
To perfection

Sergi Rachmaninoffs
Dark whispers
Fill the room.

Into my body flows
Liszt’s Hungarian Rhapsody No.2

Gentle are the fingers
That bring my toes
To point

I must concede
To the music’s full need
Of my passion

My grandmother yells
In broken English

“You should not valtz on your toes that vay”!

I pay no heed
To her words

Mephistopheles has offered
To be my waltz partner
Later I will pay
For youths passionate sins

Until then
I shall read Nietzsche
Whilst unsupervised

And dream of passions golden embers

Sleeping deep within me
Seething to come undone

I shall waltz with Mephistopheles whole-heartedly
To Hungarian Rhapsody No.2

I am after all
Nearly fourteen
and
Part Bohemian

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