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Jill Sobule
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Lonely Eighty Eight
I learned a major scale when I was nine or ten
On the baby grand in the corner of the mud room
My mother picked out Debussy and Gershwin now and then
When she wasn't weaving sweaters on her loom
I learned the minor scales in middle school's dark ages
My dad had packed his things and moved 'cross town
The keys were chipped, the G sharp stuck, and the piece was missing pages
But I practiced and I swallowed it all down
On the lonely eighty-eight
The lonely eighty-eight
Whether early, whether late
On the lonely eighty-eight
In high school there was football — but for me, diminished chords
And a book on how to fake a little jazz
In chem class, kind of restless, in algebra so bored
And the hallways were a kind of Alcatraz
I took some composition in my first year up at state
But the teacher liked that stuff that had no key
I never did get counterpoint, so I took an incomplete
But the practice rooms on Powers Street were free
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On the lonely eighty-eight
The lonely eighty-eight
It was a Friday and no date
But the lonely eight-eight
I dropped out of law school when I got an F in torts
And I sold the Fender Rhodes to pay some bills
The paralegal gig, it was my last resort
But it wasn't long before I got my fill
And now I'm here alone as the moon goes thru its phases
And the only folks who call are candidates
I blow the dust off, pick a score, and limber up my wrists,
And in the stillness I begin to celebrate
On the lonely eighty-eight
The lonely eighty-eight
Whether early, whether late
It's a Friday with no date
But here I am with the lonely eighty-eight
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