To get out of the heat, I stopped
in a pub for a cold drink before
catching the next bus across town.
It was crowded with a party
for a guy in a photo on a table
in the center of the room. A couple
near the door were talking music
and an old man with hair the color
of cigar smoke turned to me and
said how much he loved classical
music and he wondered if I listened
to real music, the classics. I told
him of course: Sgt. Pepper, The White
Album, Beggar’s Banquet were the classics
I always listen to. Sometimes that’s all
it takes to make someone smile
even if you mean it.
I started to make my way over to the bar
past a small group talking politics
a topic I always avoid even though
I’m an expert on the cold war
that took place in my apartment
when I lived with my ex.
I sat next to a woman who turned
to look at me, she said nothing and let
her drink do all the talking. I looked
to her like the kind of guy
who didn’t believe in god.
I answered I could never be an atheist
since they never have holidays.
Then she tried again –
I looked like the type who never
went to church. Then I’m your man
I told her after I took a hit on a cold beer
I ordered, since every priest I knew
talked about saving my soul when
they did nothing about saving Motown
that has all the soul anyone could need.
All you have to do is listen.
I turned around for a few moments as friends
took turns talking about Art
the guy in the photo whom I learned
didn’t die, he passed. He was too
young although eternity is such
a long ride we all go too young. But
he was only forty-five, single
and it was a quick-moving cancer
that raced through him like the number 6
Express downtown that didn’t stop until
14th Street where he lived. He sounded
like a good man and it was time for me
to leave.
When I walked outside, the heat
hit me as if I owed it back rent
and there was a strong stench
coming from 2 black trash cans next
to each other looking like lungs after
30 years of chain-smoking. Traffic kept
hitting potholes the size of bathtubs
and I thought about Art for a second
and how at least he was loved. I decided
not to wait for a bus and hailed a cab
to get home to the woman who loves
me, place my arms around her again, with
my hands resting gently on her hips – each
finger a whisper.
