Moving the Piano

On the borrowed trailer's
Quilted wooden slats,
With couches' corded seas

And wilted houseplant greens,
By straining neighbors' arms,
Black grand piano, come.

Where brass boxed butterflies
Beneath a duct-taped lid
Are poised, when sprung, to flit

Your tapers' pale blue skies,
Then, weary, to alight
The rented glossy walls,

Into their white,
By weekend labor's alms,
Black grand piano, come.