Riding The Jazz

 

It’s a crazy morning

In a good way,

You know, the place

Is nearly full,

There’s that wonderful

Hum of people chatting,

Jazz rolling in and about

The din of conversation,

Then she walks in,

A stunning slender woman

Engines running,

Hormones burning,

Igniting the air

She passes through,

Insecure females flinching

Unattached males staring

Attached males peeking,

There’s not a sound

As she is speaking,

Just her voice riding

The jazz.

 

 

Stephen Nesbitt ©

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