Nocturnal Emissions
from Blood on the Page
Petaluma, 2002
Sax man
In downstairs apartment
Wailing
Like there’s no tomorrow
Like he’s got the world
on his shoulders
Like,
his woman done him wrong;
Like,
the rent is due
and he’s broker
than broke
(Lord, don’t I know
how that is!)
I think Coltrane
would’ve liked
this brother—
blowing blues
’round about
midnight,
keeping me awake,
while probably
lulling others
to sleep;
but I don’t mind,
cause I could use
the accompaniment
as I sit
at the kitchen table
writing my own blues,
feeling like,
the world’s on my shoulders;
Like,
my woman’s done me wrong;
Like,
the rent is due
and I’m broker
than broke;
writing like my life
depended on each word
I write—
which it probably does;
As the full moon shines
through the window,
as the sax man
downstairs
continues wailing,
time seems to
stand still
as I finish
my poem
and all I’m left
with
is just jazz.