kalaidoscope

A horse who lives in a city, over in the hell part of Hell’s 
   Kitchen, in a big metal tent.

You have to get one who is dying.


Maybe you get his last day on the job, his owner, his 
   tourists.

You get his walk back home at the end of the day,

some flies, some drool. You get his deathbed, maybe.


And then, post mortem, still warm, you get the vet or else 
   the butcher

to take his three best legs. And then you get the taxidermist 
   to stuff them

heavy, with some alloy, steel, something.


Next day you go over to Christie’s interiors sale and buy a 
   baby-grand piano,

shabby condition but tony provenance, let’s say it graced the 
   entry hall

of some or other Vanderbilt’s Gold Coast classic six.


And you ask the welder you know to carefully replace the 
   piano legs

with the horse legs, and you put the horse/piano somewhere 
   like a lobby,

and you hire a guy to play it on the hour, so that everybody 
   will know

how much work it is to hold anything up in this world.