The Frustrations of the Expectations of a Band Director

The door slam was imminent,

And heard throughout the walls

But even still it wasn’t as prominent as the hoarse screaming

That protruded from the teacher beyond it,

As he stalked down the hall

It was at this point that it was safe to say that we had driven our director mad,

Likewise it was obvious that he would return soon

To reap upon us ten-fold- in spite!

Until several frequent repetitions later,

To which we will finally get it right

Though for now our symphony sat

Anxious, as no one muttered a word

As if what we wanted to say was forcefully stolen from our mouths

While the class barely stirred

And so we sit here in chairs that mark

Our advancements, rank, and skill

With shaking hands and ashen faces,

Already knowing the drill

The director’s assistant walks briskly out from his office

In his right hand he carries his prized golden sax,

Straight faced and stern looking

He stands upon the podium, leans over, and asks,

Simple questions are asked,

And simple answers are said with no interjection

The assistant, unhappy, still continues to rant

More particularly at the woodwind section

With the brass players avoiding the heat

Sitting idly as the woodwinds sweat in their seats

They sit slouched and bored limply grasping

Their silver and gold instruments- hardly clasping

With their eyes still focused on the assistant’s heavy rasping

When all is silent, all heads look up

The director is already on the podium, with his hands held above

A smile on his face now as he silently utters,

And then broadly he speaks, to look to one measure after another

As the director motions his hand in the shape of a triangle,

In a quick uniformed snap!

It is then that the symphony places their instruments to their lips,

And thrillingly ventures through the compositions complex scripts

A band that focuses on the municipal things

Has become a life with numerous keys

Life without music is not intense

Music is my epicenter of something immense