STRAD

In the cab
or on the subway
exhausted from searching
like a gnome
it's eleven o' clock
your life is going to pieces
weary on winding streets
you trace your steps
to your last violin lesson
emotions tremble
and you have a recital
tonight,
the Strad, a survivor
of fascism
with the newspaper headline
of the Times
making you shiver
remembering the day
when the Strad in case
with foreign markings
was delivered
to your basement trap- door
it was from cousin Michael
believed to be an angel
who was tortured
and has no hand
to speak of
in returning memory
from an instrument of love
never leaving your sight
now with twenty questions
between two worlds
of your interrogation
in the cold police station
when word arrives
by telephone
that in a coat check room
of a tiny restaurant
in the west side
serving goulash
where you played
Brahms Hungarian dances
the missing object
has been found
and the reward offered.