Fingertips tap
to the drummers
beat with
bang and slide
following the
ups and downs
of his rhythm
like cats
scared into
jumping high
as the crowd
waters their
moving cool
under lazy fans
rounding like
spinning moons
while they
dance thick
on sawdust
whispering words
into ears
hungry with
a tall thirst
for want
as the band
sounds the
paint from
the walls
with jazz
boiling hot.
Roger Singer 