Found Voice

It’s a hot summer night 
and the sidewalk still steams from the day.
A woman walks alone on Third Avenue,
passing from street light to street light.
Her lips move in a voiceless song
that nobody else can hear.

Up ahead, a door lit by a bare bulb 
above opens into the night,  
spilling out swirls of smoky light, 
smoky music, and a couple entwined  
who pause beneath the awning next door
to kiss and then to stagger away.

The woman goes in and moves 
though the purple-lit haze to the bar.
A tall sultry blond in a too-tight black dress 
gyrates and sings about sex
as the bored-looking band on stage 
behind her plays badly along.

The woman orders a whiskey and
finds a booth at the back in the shadows.
Around her, the sparse audience drinks and 
smokes and talks a little too loud
while the sexpot on stage moans and grinds 
her way to the end of the song.

The singer finally finishes, and so does the spotlight. 
The stage momentarily goes black. 

From out of the darkness, a long, 

slow, piercing wail calls from the stage, 

and the patrons turn to answer 

with sudden silence.

As the weak spotlight comes up, it settles 

on the guy with the hat and a muted horn.
His horn at his lips, he blows from his soul, 

and the notes move out through the room
To find the woman in the booth at the back, 

and slowly they enter her heart.

It’s a hot summer night and in a dark, 

smoky bar on Third Avenue,
A woman sits alone with her whiskey 

in a booth at the back in the shadows. 

A lone, crying horn gives voice to her song, 

and everyone’s heart weeps along.

Written for One Shot Wednesday at One Stop Poetry.