after Edgar Degas’ The Orchestra of the Opera, 1870

Lined up like oarsmen, forward-fixed
their steady eyes depend
on one conductor to captain them
through changing passages.
Uniformed, in sharp-suited glint
of white shirtfronts and jackets, black
lips pursed on reeds, hands test taut strings,
faces flushed and foreheads damp, intent
they all avert their gaze from the stage that runs beside their pit—
all but one, young, whose eyes have caught
the pale pink netting of lingering dancers,
poised above, as if to assist him
into entering their uncertain art.
He’s left his own notes to sit, transfixed
while all around him, a mass of men
begins to play
their sweet and hollow song.

Image via Wikimedia