The Nutcracker
by Judy Cabito
First chair
spoke in woeful tones like his French horn.
I’m third oboe. “I’ve never played
this position before.”
He left, came back with the percussion section,
whining, whimpering woodwinds.
“Keep it down. My landlady...”
In the middle of a quarter rest, he explained my
haughtiness, and as I had feared, the piccolo
giggled and the bassoon wheezed.
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