Sunday night in a small jazz club,

Saxaphone bleating sweetly 

And the bass is working up and down my spine

Like a rhythmic masseur.

Serving cocktails,

   Seeing drunk people.

Now the saxaphone is braying like a crazy mule.

Drums sticking on nerve endings, like accupuncture pins,

But the piano smooths it out

   oil to calm the white caps on stormy seas.

Late night in a small jazz club,

 Saxaphone going somewhere wild and free

By now I maybe just too drunk to  understand 

     The intracacies of this here jazz band,

Sunday night late

At this small jazz club date.