Playing Cajun With Mary

Fiddling on that wicked tune from Joel.
—Don’t press down hard, he'd say, keep your fingers loose.
I had to use my little pinkie too.
I'll never get close to Joel’s sound, that I know.

Then Mary had to stop from shoulder pain.
—This arthritis may end my musical career.
—No, that can’t possibly be allowed, my dear!
She shrugged, and we soon started up again.

Mary lives alone with her old black cat.
The cat was on the bed while we two played.
We scraped up quite a feast—I was amazed
at how well our two fiddles chewed the fat.

So generous of her to want to play with me at all!

Then I left and drove south, to Minnehaha Falls.