Harmonica scats free
up to breathe fresher air,
flash of worn silver
familiar from a pocket,
winks metallic capped teeth.
Polished by nights,
slipped under cheap pillows,
after the Jazz venues
push memories unscored
fumbling late into the streets.
Scents of bottled beer spilt
across tables linger on,
long after the morning lamps
hit the “off home” switch.
Cupped hands hold a tune,
eyebrows betray stray notes.
A sweep of a mouth line
taps bleary phrases in time
with muddied sole shoes
before departure is the request.
Light is almost here again,
time to dream of Adler, Coltrane
as the dark blues turn
a softened horizon pale red.
