Carol Ann Duffy

Every Good Boy

I put this breve down, knowing in my head
the sound it makes before I play a note.
C sharp is D flat, changing if I place it here,
or here, or there. Listen. I mostly use a minor key.

These days, the world lacks harmony. The inner cities
riot in my inner ear. Discord, say the critics,
but that is what I hear; even in this quiet room
where I deploy blatant consecutive fifths, a hooligan.

That time I was mugged, I came back here
and sat for hours in silence. I have only ever wanted
to compose. The world strikes me and I make
my sound. I make no claim to greatness.

If they were caught, I would like half an hour
together, to show how this phrase, here, excites,
how the smash of broken glass is turned
into a new motif. I would like to share that with them.