Two ostinatos
neither a favourite
each chasing its own escape

My hands argue
weaving crooked stories

In B flat
the pinky wanders the pentatonic
a stranger at the gate

If I act as if I know
the hand turns against me
prefers the third
casts out the small finger

Mutiny in silence
the guard at the door thinks force will suffice
yet trouble thickens

The pinky waits
more faithful more ruthless
its demand is simple
time in the chain gang
stone against stone