sym-phony

Before, or slightly after, the flood
There was Ebbets Field,
And the Brooklyn Dodgers Sym-phony.

5 guys playing Dixieland, “America the Beautiful “
And “Take me out to the ballgame”.
25 cents for Mom, kids free,
“Dem Bums” were a great baby-sitting service.

According to Mom, those cheap seats
Afforded a terrific view of the band, sometimes,
Less so the ballgame.
At 3 the band was enough.

13 years later, a lifetime Brooklyn Dodger fan,
I heard the Cleveland Symphony,
(You’d think they’d get the spelling right).
In a basketball gym that smelled as though the
Game was still in progress.

Those guys from Cleveland could play.
It was not Ebbets Field music,
But it was big, really big.

I never recovered from that Dvorak concert.
Though the epiphany passed
Music has remained a mystery
A force filled with sound and color,
Completely beyond my understanding.

Does a conductor get picked like a baseball manager,
“Knows something about the business and will be OK with the fans?”
There are no win and loss numbers at a concert,
Unless someone starts throwing flowers or fruit.

I have not the ear to notice a hall that loses a high C.
I hear pace, melody and drama.
That’s all, and its enough.