Couple at the Club

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.