Jazz on the Square

the same bareheaded
shiny skin headed man
patrols the square on tuesdays,
mexican blankets with their thick cottons and
old people with mole eyes
darting feverishly to the sharp slide of the cymbals

baseball capped, fedora laden
breezy summer wide brims the
jazz brings the city in on
a short leash
tied to the rap-rap-rapture of the snare

while the same bareheaded
shiny skin headed man
takes his rounds romantically
holding a blue vase full of
drowning roses.

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