I buy a Nighttime Jazz recordTo lay down to some piano and smoky voices.
But it’s quick -- toe tappingCutting angles, and leg grinding.Young folk, floorboards, and energy.Great-grandpa about as youngAs he ever was, bouncing on in.The New World winter meltingRight off him in the crowd.
So I find a party down the block.Some nighttime music, a stranger to hold meAround the shoulder and confess.To tell him I too have changed this year.Without temperatureMovement that can be provenWithout time’s passingYou can not convince meThis night that I have not been here foreverLeaning in the yardSome snow against my ankles.
In my recounting it feels so safeBecause I’m not here anymore.Because no cars swerve through the snowTo suck my leg under their tire this night.No shock of a sucker punch, or lettingA woman I don’t love sway against me in the basement.I just walk home. A little drunk.
But that jazz record is urgent.At moments still it feelsLike it needs proofBut they’re all gone nowAnd I can’t find it anywhere.
Itching, hip-switchingSweating through a three-piece suit.