A Very Big Drum

My brother carries
A very big drum

He doesn't play it
Bang it, nothing like that

All he does is carry it around
And make people nervous

My mother, especially
She looks at him
Then looks at me
And back at him

And says--Well?
And he says--Yes?
And she says--Why don't you play?

Aren't you going to play?
When do you plan on playing that thing, huh?
When when when when when when?

And he looks at her
As if he has no idea
What she's talking about

And maybe he doesn't
So she just gets up
And plays her violin
And I play my harp
And my father plays the trumpet
And my brother sits with his very big drum
And finishes his cereal

At school, kids stare at him
While they play their tubas and trombones
Their cellos and oboes
And all around this world of sound
My brother walks
With his very big drum
Not playing it

Not making a sound

His teachers are concerned
But aside from his unplayed drum
My brother is fairly normal

He's quiet, sure
But only musically

He talks and chats
And makes conversation
With anyone willing to talk to a boy
With a very big drum
With nothing to it
But a very noticeable silence

Something untouched
Something unfulfilled
A noise waiting to be made

I never ask my brother
When he's going
To bang his drum

I can sense that he likes it
The noise before the noise

The sound before the sound

The anticipation
Of having something

Controlling it

Deciding when it will become
What it should

An instrument

A tool

A vessel of expression

But until then
It is just
A very big drum

Maybe my brother is worried
That once it's played
People won't like
How it sounds

Maybe they won't care
For what he has to say with it

Maybe he'll just be
The boy with the drum
Instead of the quiet young man
Waiting
To be heard