Blues in a New York Bar
You know, man, Charlie Parker was
the best, Miles, too, so was Thelonious
and Coltrane, said to me some guy, while
I was sitting alone at the bar, sipping slowly
from my glass of sadness. How did they do that?
I looked at his white clean skin, the reddish hair,
the expansive clothes, that came from his first-class life,
filled with holidays in the Maldives, big hits
at the stock exchange, pleasantly looking trophy wife…
Then I realized it was impossible to explain it to him.
I just returned to the music.
Outside, the sun was going down and slowly cocooning
my glass of bourbon in a rusty-copper light.
At the end I went out and left him alone with the secret.