artwork: ralph murre
JAZZ
by
Jackie Langetieg
I
don’t want to go to Chet Baker’s house
Let
him come to me, lean his back against
the
scene of ancient Chinese mountains in my living room
Let
me serve him Metaxa brandy in a water glass
Don’t
let the smoke leave the room––nothing should fly out
on
the wings of notes coming from his horn, his voice his hands
words
left hanging on black clefs of minor chords
I’m
loose on the sofa, Robe slightly open hoping he’ll notice
baby
grand ready for his touch
like
the counting of my ribs, each finger placed surely
on
the steps of my spine.
I
feel his concentration on the music
I’m
just a body temporarily in his way for tonight
The
old serrated trees on the panel behind me sway
and
fantasy fills my head. The music trails off and he joins me
We
speak little, lie to each other, talk of insignificances
Soon
dawn is opening the curtains of night and he drives off
leaving
me lost in the smoky night music still at play in the room.
~
first published in Norbert Blei’s Poetry
Dispatch
