b.z. niditch | harvard square 1990


Snow huddles me
over gritty stone pavements
on a Visigoth winter
along Cambridge Common
wanting a coffee
without a Kennedy dollar,
crossing the Square
by red cab headlights
punctured with cold
in my pea jacket
found on the club’s bar
resting comfortably
after an all night gig
with a redeemed sax
in a self-made sling
from an injured hand
trying to break up
a rowdy bar fight
when an autograph seeker
helping me out
who claims he knows me
from my urban read
in denim and cowboy hat
recently tattooed,
with a lone star accent
follows me
in his broken down cab
standing on Mass. Ave
with a tiny case
as Dizzy riffs dissolve
on the car radio
like snowy kisses
from a dirty windowpane
with my new collection
called “A.M, PM.”
in the front seat
offers to drive me
and put me up
in any motel
if I sign on the dotted line
to Tex, my friend
feeling like
a hammered vagabond
burnt out
from Cambridge weekends
without any sleep
running a heavy fever
sliding on the street
now filling with drifts
the driver telling me
a round about story
about rescuing his shy kid
named Bobby Bob
nearly killed in traffic
jumping on the backseat
with a pocket trumpet
for the school band
obviously high
who asks us for directions
to nowhere.

Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.