Indigo walls frame
a light, crimson stage
aflame --
we sit jammed
at tiny cafe tables
candlelit in a NY
basement dive,
the air is rich and
alive with aromas
Moroccan hummus,
we order
tiramisu martinis
vodka with ice,
as the hunched pianist
hammers, his knees
pendulating,
feet kicking,
his rhythms egging
the quintet to
weave and swoop,
trumpet, sax,
bass, drums, all
pulling us on
and in,
we swim
and ride the melodic
plaited waves
until the music
fades.
By Mary E. Lohan
Note: About Cornelia Street Cafe
a light, crimson stage
aflame --
we sit jammed
at tiny cafe tables
candlelit in a NY
basement dive,
the air is rich and
alive with aromas
Moroccan hummus,
we order
tiramisu martinis
vodka with ice,
as the hunched pianist
hammers, his knees
pendulating,
feet kicking,
his rhythms egging
the quintet to
weave and swoop,
trumpet, sax,
bass, drums, all
pulling us on
and in,
we swim
and ride the melodic
plaited waves
until the music
fades.
By Mary E. Lohan
Note: About Cornelia Street Cafe
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