-the accordion lesson-

––it was held on a Saturday morning in a vacant,

oversized room in an old, redbrick building on Second Street.

I’m there with cousin Paul, three years my elder and against my will.

cousin Paul was in the early developmental stage of knuckleball techniques,

and I was beginning to notice something was going on with the girls;

something intriguing. 

metal folding chairs were meticulously placed in a circle such so

that even Leonardo might’ve assigned his name to it.

––seven mothers walked in with their kids in tow, each kid

struggling to carry his accordion at rest in its bulking case.

––the instructor, tall and lanky in his mid-twenties began the session

by impressing everyone with his rapid rendition of “Lady of Spain"

a tune I was familiar with and remembered singing as:
“Lady of Spain I adore you. Pull down your pants I’ll explore you..” 

––but ending his proof of qualification, the lanky specialist

pulled his accordion's intriguing bellows outward from the straps

making a sound only an accordion would dare to make.
the kids in the circle followed along in this learning procedure;

bellows out (shriek)  bellows in (shriek)  and so on.

––I sat quietly against the wall with the smilingly proud mothers, then
closing the session at one hour to the second, the exhaled accordions
were packed-up inside their cases like chubby infant vampires assigned

to their caskets and everyone walked out without making another sound.

Quequechan