Jazz Pops

Jazz pops
From the tiny stage
Nestled between
Basement stairs
And the men’s room
Of this narrow
Shotgun townhouse
Dark beer head
Fills to the brim
Never overflowing
From canning jars
From dark recesses
Simmer between beats
Ensuring an empty sound
Is never heard
Between sets
As the band jams
And sun falls
Dimming curtain cladded windows
Focused band mates
Don’t notice the change
From evening to night
Belting out tunes
Punctuated by solos
Swaying to the beat
Letting the music
Taken them away
To a different time
A different place
Anywhere but here
Middle of urban sprawl
Packed away
Like sardines
Of overdeveloped real estate
A modern land
With little taste
Of the things of old
Like the popping jazz
Filtering from
The narrow downtown saloon

No Comments

Leave a Reply