The bass goes it alone. The bass goes
by subway. The trumpet shines and swerves,
yellow taxi breaking from the light.
The piano bides its time. The trombone
takes a walk in the rain. Bass
boots it, freight train heading west.
The man hides in his courage. Oh dear me no.
In his fright. Sometimes he wears a hat because
he is English. Sometimes because he is bald.
One tune is tough. Broken glass,
broken teeth in it. The piano does
reconnaissance. The sax loiters, bold.
Sax swelters. Flares. His gin is
on the rocks, his hand scarred.
The drums fall down
the stairs. He puts his anger under his hat.
Under the table. Piano remembers, piano
pounds on the door. Somebody opens
a window. Somebody opens the roof.
Some geese are trumpets
calling down the sky. The snare
stings. Bites. The drums obsess.
He is pretty, he is hard as glass. Piano
remembers everything. So does she.
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