Drum the Cello

Bits of hurried meals scatter beneath the table:
sauced penne, broccoli, bread, chocolate covered raisins.
Strands of hair fall unheard across the rooms:
brown and blonde, long and not-so-long.
Art implements cover all horizontal planes:
crayons (the floors), markers (the chairs), papers and pencils (the tables).
Everywhere my eyes see shreds, scraps, and specks.

I should try something different.
Look up, perhaps.
Look forward, even.
Try drumming the cello instead of bowing it.