A Black Man Plays the Sax
Down on a street corner,
Across from a small pizzeria,
Stood a tall black man
Wearing a long trench coat
Playing a shiny gold saxophone
To tune of a private orchestra
Heard only by him.
His fingers worked the brass
Like when God created Adam.
His lips played the mouthpiece
Like a long lost curlew calling
For another of his kind.
Passionate.
Lonely.
Desperate.
He hit his private crescendo,
Took a breath, and smiled
To his small audience.
I put a dollar in the case
sitting like an open hand
On the ground.
I nodded to the black man
With the shiny gold saxophone
And continued on my way.