Falling Pianos

He lit a cig and stated, “In life, most events are fortuitous.”
And then asked if I found his logic debatable, or possibly even unbelievable.
Actually I kind of did. He compared it to the dropping of an “Acme Piano.”
“Yeah,” I replied. “I know the drill,
It gets me and old Wild E. every time. Even our best of plans go up in smoke.”
He chuckled. “Between you and that immortal desert dog, there seems to be little contrast.”

He took another drag, “But even a set of identical twins will eventually show undeniable contrast.”
This sparked my interest. “For instance, a small scar brought on by things deemed fortuitous
Will forever make the claim—I can’t tell one from the other—slightly unbelievable.”
Cigarette fumes lingering, he continued, “One sibling might become a craftsman of the Piano,
The other a prodigy with a power-drill.
You never know? In short, interchangeable carbon copies are an illusion of smoke.”

I looked for a hole in his logic, but all I kept settling on was this image of smoke.
Even the wisps off his cigarette contorted the shadows of his face, and created contrast.
His eyes told me he had planned this; my heart told me it had been fortuitous.
In a matter of puffs, he had shattered my definition of what is or isn’t unbelievable.
Unlike the roadrunner always a step ahead of the piano,
I guess, I did not know the damn DRILL!

I might have been wrong but I could feel him reading my thoughts. His eyes boring into mine like a drill
Enlarging a hole. He looked down on my soul and sniffed. “It smells like smoke.”
This caught me off guard. In the awkwardness, I yelled, “Tell me about the contrast!”
He didn’t seem to notice my attempt at something fortuitous.
Instead, he shrugged, and did something I can only explain as unbelievable.
With a look of anger, then curiosity, he asked, “Do you play the piano?”

I told him, “I’ve played many things in life, but no…Never a piano.
Though, once I recorded myself playing the star spangled banner on a power drill.”
He looked confused. I laughed, “It sounded amazing, but again, it was probably the cannabis smoke…”
He snuffed his cig and continued, “In hindsight, almost all memories are seen in some form of contrast.”
I nodded. “And, when we realize it each one in its own way may seem fortuitous.
You, me, this conversation, practically everything to some degree is unbelievable.”

He was right. Even as I look back now, that strange conversation seems unbelievable.
I had witnessed a man, forever, one step ahead of a falling piano.
With eyes like a drill,
He forced me to choke on internal smoke,
With nothing but: conversation, contrast
And things deemed fortuitous.

Unbelievably, since that day, the smoke still lingers.
And, in contrast, I no longer believe I know the damn drill.
Instead I remain vigilant, always looking up expecting some fortuitous piano to fall from the sky.

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