Poetry- Saxophone Streets

Night time streets are saxophones
The darkness suggesting so much more than asphalt and paint
Curvaceous and fluid the body of the sax
It winds seductively languorously into the music it makes
Then back into the instrument
Streetlights are the keys you know
The keys and the notes in one un ending fluid dark
A song played by every person who drives those streets
Who adds the staccato of their footsteps to the asphalt staff
The scars and pot holes are rainbow filled vibratos
Moments singular where color and music collide
In a time devoid of light and life
So many think they are the same thing
Ignorant to they melody they write nightly
The horns pipe in now angry and long
Punctuation to a never ending sentence
Angry words from angry mouths lost to the rhythm of a song no one hears
The lives lost on these saxophone streets
A soft ephemeral wind section
Whispering lullaby warnings against bad decisions and late nights
Always tempting calling for one more to the chorus of never spoken goodbyes
It’s time for the wail of sirens in this phrase
The double time rhythm of ambulance lights
A red period
Radio static bringing this symphony into the twenty first century
Quiet now time will tell whether the wind has one more voice
The black giving way to violet then crimson
For fleeting moments the new born light glints off these saxophone streets
As the crimson gives way to lighter hues the symphony is lost
Once again dull asphalt and chipped paint
Drawing the unwitting toward another night time performance