I practice my dulcimer on the porch
these summer evenings
surrounded by spotlights of lightning bugs,

and it’s nine at night when I come in and realize
I haven’t written my daily poem.

“Write one about dulcimers,” my daughter says.

So I am.

I look forward to the pause of music
to an activity no one expects me to master
something I can be bad at and just do

because it’s fun, trying new tunes and singing off-key.

Although, I do love listening to songs strummed and
sang by experts, and I relish in the sound of music well-made,

I indulge in doing it badly
right there on my front steps

where the only thing that matters is making joy.