I like to be surrounded
by men in shiny shoes tapping straight time
f holes with the curved lines.
I like jazz where it sounds like they're murdering a piano
I hop the bus to hear the bass beat
each minute second hour that strange power when the drum set crackles like
a kitchen sink
everything falls from the cupboards at once
in a senseless toy store trapped in amber
to admire like a treasure from a jewelry box.
Saxophone growling like rocks
the "calloused hands" of the band.
The bass player up and down the neck
the story is in his hands.
They call her Ladybird for the thrills and the trills
but I like it when her voice invokes suspense into the air,
and suddenly, in my heart, there's a lion, hiding in the brush,
about to strike.