It’s the end of the drive, the night fallen down
It’s the end of the drive, the night fallen down

Late night jazz

It’s the end of the drive, the night fallen down
into the sleeping dream-state of the union,
awareness a jazz guitar and stand-up bass
drumming on the sidewalls of our tires
doggedly flashing past the cold air.
Smoke and cigarettes, the lovely woman
sleeps by the string bass with a coat
to keep it warm and we all want
a picture but Aaron—only Aaron—
took photos of the band through
the curtains from outside the house
while nobody noticed and everybody
came, engineers hovering in the basement
and writers full of liquor dancing
to the rhythm of cow bells.

—Michael Dickel

Blue Notes—Chicago, Paris Sax
Blue Notes—Chicago, Paris Sax

© 2015, poem and illustrations, Michael Dickel, All rights reserved

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