Concertina

Pete Mullineaux

She shuffles it like a pack of cards,
testing the silent breath in the pleats.
With the air button pressed, fingers tease
but the instrument stays mute –
if push came to shove, you could play
this way all day, under the table,
hands coming together, moving apart
never quite meeting; like almost clapping –
 
nothing strange then in a concertina sounding jolly
while the player’s expression
is so often grave, giving little away
of what lies beneath.