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POEM: Argentina

Argentina

of course the last thing I saw
as I left New York City
was a poster for your musical
even a city with a million stories
has time to remind me
of the unresolved ending
of my own complicated tale

years ago I made a living
playing saxophone for
dancers golfers and drunks
in a bar on Hilton Head Island
you’re working with the man whose hit
we played two or three times a night
he sees you more than I do

me, I’m riding yet another Greyhound
through the slow rolling hills
at the top end of North Carolina
heading to yet another rendezvous
with a new face in a new town
the rapper in front of me
is using my phone to call his mom

26 June 2012
on a bus between
NYC and Raleigh, NC

Published in Jazz Or Bust Tour My poems Poetry

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