A Letter to the Oboist

My Dearest Musician,

I know I don’t live up to him

My keys trap moisture, my corks tend to resist,

and my lack of a second octave key makes me

an utter Disappointment.

But cigarette paper can soak up the spit.

Some cork grease every once in a while makes

it far easier for me to connect.

I am willing to stretch with you if you

just give me a chance.

We have so much in common.

Two pieces cut from the same swab.

You have scars and so do I

Left by the players who

labeled us used.

I could sound your symphonies.

I could create your crescendos.

I could relay your requiems to

The patrons you long to please

But only if you try to get to know me.

So please.

I am begging through blue velvet.

Please just unlatch my case.

Love,

Igor