He sits there at the Jazz cafe every night,
sat there in the same dark corner
with a medium sized cigar hanging from his
mouth,

tapping to the music of the band,
with a whiskey being slowly sipped
from his right hand.

He wears a different suit everynight,
tailored just right,
not to tight.

on this night he actually stood up and walked to the stage,
his shinning shoes glowing through
thick cigarette smoke,
he ripped the saxophone out of the young mans hand,
looked at him and said 'step back',

he then raised the saxophone to his lips
drew a deep breath and started playing,
the crowd were going crazy,
he was going crazy,
it was like he had risen from his grave,
and just wanted to shake off the dirt.

He finished his jam,
gave the saxophone back to the man and said
'thats how its done lad,my work here is done.

he walked out the door and was never seen again,
but we still talk about him,
the man that came and touched us for 5mins of our lifes,

we will never forget you mr.jazz man

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Copyright©2017-1999 by Rebecca R. Hammack

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