Earl Grey in Old Imari Porcelain
He could have stayed behind his desk. He could
Have signed stock-trading bonds. He could have stayed
Not writing symphonies. Each night he would
Have travelled home to comfort. Hubert strayed.
He could have travelled home each night and had
His cream pea soup. The cipher would not write
His uncooked masterpiece, his “I was glad.”
He could have tapped his fingertips at night
Beside the cutlery on linen cloth.
He could have had hot coffee, instead of
Composing. Parry could have been a moth
In music’s brightest noon. Suburban love
Just might have been enough for me or you.
Let’s settle back and sup our milky brew.