Urban Voice

I’d walked myself out of the buzz

The buzz of a long day

A drive up the coast

Saved only by the soothing voice of the GPS

Fighting for space at 70 mph

Navigating rush hour

Going over the wrong bridge the wrong way

Fighting my way back,

Stupid GPS I spit out


The hotel, a disappointment in itself

But slipped between

Chinatown and Union Square

Around the corner from the French Quarter

A fine repast

Urban walking

Digging the architecture

Recognizing the Frank Lloyd Wright edifice

From at least a block away

Chilling in the sliding drift of the crowded sidewalks

Absorbing the look and feel of the place

Upscale and updone, I thought

The buzz receded

Heading back to the hotel

As I reached the last corner

A tendril of a plaintive wail

Reached my ear

A horn

Crying in the night

I turned and followed the sound

Found this dude and his horn

In a storefront alcove where he poured forth

I dropped a few bucks

After a while, he stopped for a smoke break

We talked

“Name’s Top” he said when I asked

“Well Topcat really,

but I’ve been around so long everybody just shortens it

We talked some more

Like old friends

Said goodnight

Found my way back up the street

As I climbed into bed

A lick and a curl

Crept through the transom

Top was crying his blues

In the night

And I slept tight



David Trudel   © 2012


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