The city sounds of jazz saturate the rainy night air.
From a metal bench beside the cobblestone street
my eyes capture neon signs, the reflecting streets,
the yellow cabs, and trolleys splashing curbed puddles.

I see her there leaning against the brick nightclub wall.
She casually dangles a long cigarette between her
red painted nails. The young club boys lust for her
but she seems oblivious to their intense stares.

An old guy in a Porsche pulls up to the curb. He rolls
down a rain streaked window and leans out his arrogant
balding head. Smiling mockingly, she tosses her cigarette
to the sidewalk, and hip strolls back inside the club.

A musician stands in an alcove across the street
blowing lonely notes on his alto sax, interpreting
the sounds of the dripping rain. His donation cap
sits wet and empty on the sidewalk in front of him.

The jazz man is unconscious to earthly things while the
young men hurrying past rattle their drunk and empty
pockets for change hoping to make one last call for
alcohol and a lover with whom to spend a lonely night.

I watch until the clubs close and the streets are empty
leaving me alone with my thoughts and the sounds of
the neon signs clicking, buzzing over my head and the
soft rain washing away the passions of a jazzy night