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

This entry was posted in Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s