Not even a name like the others.
Violinists, of course. Cellists too.
But double-bass players are
A linguistic and orchestral encumbrance.
For there he is, patiently
Waiting for that bar two pages on in the score
Where he may produce at last a vibrant burr -
Seen, yet scarce perceived beyond his bow.
And as he waits he dreams.
From his mooring he watches steadfastly
The hunchback cormorant flap his wings
And swiftly he casts off.
Past the wide-kneed cellists bent on their oars
Past the violinists, frenzied vaporetti
Chugging down to the Academia,
Gondolier-poised he glides.
Punts past the trombones' mournful siren
Past the woodwinds endless chatter
Out, out into the lagoon
In search of a name.