The old jazzman watches from the wings –
The saxophone brashly bursts upon the ballroom
energising the moment, uplifting the mood.
On cue, his soft sweeping, beat keeping sticks
break their gentle cadence.
Dancers feet begin to pound
joining his tympanic crescendo.
Traditional arrangements revitalised,
familiar melodies syncopated
with raspy imperfections.
His own opus improvised
with tones from another place, timbres from another time.
The wings are empty now.
His kit sits silent.
Lingering notes imbue our solitude.
He, in a different place with a different audience, plays on.
© Sheila Ash, 2018