"I Want to Be"

I have no desire
to be the trumpet,
to blare out bright
and terse, brassy,
to take the lead
that everyone follows,
nor the horn deeper,
golden, and echoey
that mandates a certain
regality of bearing.
I wouldn't be the violin,
too nervously shrill
and jittery, nor
the flute, peeping
like a stork on one foot
with its neck stretched
out, nor the bump-thumping
drum, loud, obnoxious,
and boring. No, I want
to be the oboe, thinner,
ever-so-slightly nasal,
and sinuously ironic,
twining around
the subject and smiling
into its eyes like
a lightly amused
python.