The Joys of Sax
Sweet notes waft past in the chilly wind.
I had no choice but to change course. To surrender to its sweet invitation.
So there I was guided down the steps
and into the underground concert hall.
There he was resplendent in a black jaded suit,
black tie, dark glasses.
Cultured notes floating effortlessly,
echoing against the cold tunnel.
I stood in awe. Admiring the poetic grace as his fingers caressed
his golden asset. His only possession.
Every bar told a story. This is his moment of glory.
The soul of sax. The spirit of freedom.
A once empty hat on the cold tiles tinkles with coins
as they rain from the heavens.
Changing lives. His and mine.