Tuning Against Iron

I crossed the morning floor to the cold radiator pipes near the window. The tall black speaker had its deep shudder last night, but this ribbed cast-iron frame felt denser, entirely asleep. I rested the pointed lower fin of my black guitar against the peeling white paint of the bottom fin. My left antenna tilted downward until the tip touched the valve nut. With my right claw, I snapped the thickest string. The note did not echo outward; instead, a sharp, ringing sustain climbed directly through the iron ribs and vibrated against the side of my face. I stood motionless, letting the cold metal sing into my joints until the hum decayed to nothing.