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True Blue
By
Claire Blumenfeld
Little Boy Blue had blown his horn,
each night before bed since the day he was born.
Though he hit all the high notes from measure to measure,
making music from wind did not bring him true pleasure.
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Blue reached for his soup spoon to jangle a tap.
He grooved out a rhythm and chanted a rap.
"Rat-a-tat-Tat, a-Rum, pa-Pum.
Can't wait 'till the day when I bang on a drum." (banging
on bowl)
"That's enough," cried his mom. "Not in here with that
racket.
Keep on going like that and you're likely to crack it!"
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"The horn's not for me," Blue would always repeat.
"Why can't I switch, and keep the beat?"
"You're a Blue," Mom explained. "Playing horn is tradition."
She was missing the point of her restless musician.
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Blue traded his spoon for some hand bops instead,
thumping the top of his brother's wee head.
"Rat-a-tat-Tat, a-Rum, pa-Pum.
Can't wait 'till the day when I bang on a drum." (banging
on head)
"The concert is over," Mom said. "Not a pout."
"Wash up, brush your teeth. It is time for lights-out."
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Blue crawled into bed, heavy hearted with sorrow,
"Sleep tight," said his mom, "your big day is tomorrow!"
Blue squinted his lids and pretended to sleep,
Then snuck down the stairs in a cat crawling creep.
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He stole to the barnyard where no one would hear.
The cows and the sheep were the only ones near.
"Rat-a-tat-Tat, a-Rum, pa-Pum.
Can't wait 'till the day when I bang on a drum." (milk
bucket)
Blue set the farm tempo in true drummer fashion.
Rhythm born from his heart was what filled him with passion.
The animals rocked by the moon's shining light.
No beast in the barn would be sleeping that night.
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Early next morn', awake at dawn,
blurry-eyed Blue let out a yawn.
"No time for a nap," Mother said, "Eat your ham."
"Today after chores is the Village Square Jam."
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Blue then led his troop to the pasture for grazing,
Deciding to guide with soft tones and some praising.
"Come here clever cattle, you know it by heart,
Folks say cows are dumb but I know that you're smart!"
"Right this way wooly friends to the tail wagging section.
Don't you fret, 'twas Bo Peep lacking sense of direction."
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15/16---
What happened next is no surprise,
Under a haystack he closed his blue eyes.
No sound could awake him. He'd never recall,
the thud from a girl who was kicking her ball. *
(*Illustration shows a girl in her band uniform and
drum round her neck, dribbling a soccer ball past Blue on her way to the
Village Square Jam.)
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Later that day the band rehearsed,
noticing nothing unusual at first.
When Bob the conductor alerted the brass,
one empty seat sat unused in the grass.
"Where is the boy who looks after the sheep?"
the bandleader blubbered beginning to weep.
"I'll run and get him," called Meg from her chair,
the girl in the back row who pounded the snare.
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Holding her drum, and sticks in arm,
Meg dribbled her ball and went back to the farm.
Still dreaming of drums on his mattress of hay,
Blue soon would awake in a feverish way.
Making her mark, Meg bonked his nose.
"Stop! I'm awake!" Blue said, ending his doze.
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"Little Boy Blue, come blow your horn.
The sheep's in the meadow the cow's in the corn."
Toot-a-toot-toot. Blue called the flock.
"Hustle to town," said the secretive jock.
"Can I hold the drum while you dribble the ball?
I'm dying to play it with drum sticks and all."
"Rat-a-tat-Tat, a-Rum, pa-Pum.
Hurray, look at me. I am playing the drum!"
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A-Thumpity-thump, and a Rat-a-tat-tat.
Openmouthed Bob said, "What was that?"
Dropping his jaw and de-waxing his ears,
He hadn't heard drumming like Blue's in some years.
Then from a distance Meg took a straight shot,
WHIZ! zoomed the ball flying back to its spot.
Mother called to her boy, "No more need for discussion.
At last I can hear your true love for percussion!"
Blue danced and he jumped a wide, jubilant leap.
"And when it is bedtime I promise I'll sleep."
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As for the girl who had missed many beats,
her band-leading dad traded drum sticks for cleats.
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