The stoned drummer plays with eyes closed. Shoes
off he can feel the kick drum
with sock feet. Every so often
he winces and smiles
like an orgasm. They’re figure skaters landing

every jump. The saxophonist picks at a seashell
and rolls it in his palm, figures out
what to do with it. Shakes shell
bells ringing
like a tambourine. Guh is more like a brain

trust. The drummer explodes
when he wants
to & the trumpeter raises his hand in

solidarity with the drummer
his explosions. At the table someone drunk
off two pints
muses How can I get the number
of this wiley waittress tapping
me on the shoulder?

Hey what were you
writing in that little book?