Meaning

If a life needn't be useful to be meaningful, 

Then maybe a life of sunbathing on a beach 

Can be thought of as meaningful for at least a few, 

The few, say, who view the sun as a god 

And consider basking a form of worship.
 

As for those devoted to partnership with a surfboard 

Or a pair of ice skates or a bag of golf clubs, 

Though I can't argue their lives are useful, 

I'd be reluctant to claim they have no meaning 

Even if no one observes their display of mastery.

No one is listening to the librarian 

I can call to mind as she practices, after work, 

In her flat on Hoover Street, the viola da gamba 

In the one hour of day that for her is golden. 

So what if she'll never be good enough 

To give a concert people will pay to hear?

When I need to think of her with an audience, 

I can imagine the ghosts of composers dead for centuries,

Pleased to hear her doing her best with their music.

And isn't it pleasing, as we walk at dusk to our cars 

Parked on Hoover Street, after a meeting 

On saving a shuttered hotel from the wrecking ball, 

To catch the sound of someone filling a room 

We won't be visiting with a haunting solo?

--Carl Dennis