The trumpet blares its final C,
   embouchures are unglued 
                   and all instruments are lowered.

To raucous applause,
                    the concerto concludes.

The maestro bows; 
                    a flutist raises his bow.

thwunk!

Over heads and through one,
         A cortex has processed its last memory. 

A child belts her first scream since birth, 
An athlete runs his first lane since college, 
A woman bleeds, her first since Friday. 

The curtain closes, 
The exits open,
The day is dark.

That evening, a detective learned 
what no one has taught: 
when jealousy is born, 
its mother, envy, must kill,
and its father, malice, 
ensigns both certificate and will.  

So why does the flutist have a bow? He does not. It represents the arrows that lash from his tongue as he exposes his adulterous wife in public, to wit, she expires from heart attack.