Sunday, September 4, 2016

Day Turns Night / James D. Senetto

Day Turns Night

The day was long,
my back aching for a rub
but my prowl wasn't over,
marching down Fifth
to see what I could see.

Night people,
always different than the day,
shadows, really,
in street light spotlights,
some with a slow prance,
some, a full gallop
to nowhere.

Me, I just stride.

Music, spilling out of a door,
pulls me in
and as a spot opened by the player
I sat and ordered a cold one,
a cold one and some
jazzy guitar
with a nice leg view over there
by the door
and I took it all in
breaking free shelled peanuts
for supper.

Music satisfies,
slow and easy;
a pork pie hat
sits atop a fusion
of closed eyes
and curled lips.

That nice leg
is tapping out the beat.

Oh, to have her rub away
my day
as I send over a smile,
not returned.

Should have taken up
the guitar I figure,
she'd be bouncing that leg
for me.

I head out and home,
first filling the pockets
with those peanuts.

Tomorrow I hear they'll have tacos.

James D. Senetto
New York City, 2015

[All rights reserved by the author - used with permission]

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