Playing It By Ear

Art Tatum vision of 

piano bar in Chicago

a tasteful booth, back

against wood, safe for

the moment because

no one expects anything

to happen here...here is 

where you come in the

between times, before or

after the encore..here is

where you come to, out

side the boxing ring...like

waking up on the lawn 

to the sound of the  

milkman's clinking bottles

without the embarrassment.

Some joints you go into, 

and that itself is success...

it's high class, and no one 

seems to notice you...

you fit in....membership

has it's privileges.... 

acceptance, invisibility,

no matter who you had

to kill, why the music is

so sweet and soothing...

why the bartender is so

understanding.

It takes a while to sink in,

to chill out, slough off the 

care like the snake you are...

it's just another skin, and,

what lies beneath is tougher.

They'll bump you off in a 

restaurant because you're

eating...distracted...not here...

this is like a watering hole

in the Serengeti...the senses

acute for predators....and, it's

posh....hard to ambush ambition.

A perfect, temporary pleasure...

a trifle, an opium dream, your

hit man waiting patiently in the

back seat of the car with his cold

cup of coffee, waiting 'till you've

had enough.