afternoon poem, #3, Oct. 7, 2017


Out of the cold night he comes

Through the glass door

Into the warmth and light

Food aroma, smell of coffee

He waits for the sound of the piano

But nothing comes

You’re on tonight, if you want it

The man tells him


He will not decline

No begging off

None of this: Why didn’t you let me know

No reason for nerves

He’d learned that lesson long ago

And what does it matter now

Just play

Let the guitar sound

Trust it and don’t hurry

Maybe this is the night

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