Piano Jury

A poem that uses synesthesia (a mixing of the senses).

I sat down, with a sickly-brown cloud,
on the black leather bench.

The stale scent of the vast almost-empty hall
filled my nostrils and constricted my lungs.

The bitter-coffee taste of possible rejection
lingered on my tongue, and
my heart stopped beating
for a moment.

Over my thighs the instrument loomed,
teeth of black and white, ready to bite.

My fingers curled in my lap,
sweat grew green in my palms.

A voice of neon yellow broke the
black silence with a dreaded request.

Before the green sweat congealed like super glue,
my hands became feather-light, and
glided over the glistening teeth like a skilled toothbrush.

My brain began to float in purple mist and
the black beast with black and white teeth
sang in red-rose beauty.