Jazz

familiar dark interior late afternoon

a few regulars stationed at the bar 

or table

a couple at the bar, she, a hat and

handbag, he, a suit and tie, 

nervous, waiting for something crucial

slow jazz recorded music

sun going down grey shadows growing

the edge between two worlds

(let alone the world and time I write this in)

life measured in inches of drink

(at least, it’s a standard you can count on)

each person that enters a new page of script

a cosmic event nevermind the dark matter

an extra shadow that seemed like a third man

the place was haunted out loud with souls

dripping their lives, the sawdust leaking out,

nervous laughter, shuffling, silence, 

waiting for it’s time for what’s next.