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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