Saxophone Blues By Tobi Alfier

With eyes closed your mind drifts off

to that remembered place, grass

stapled on roof and walls, neon liquors

bright against an ancient jukebox

bought for $499.99 from a catalog

from before you were born. A nativity scene

of feel-goods and feel-bads against

the sound of tides warm as blood.

Lord have mercy, you’re not

the religious one in this memory,

but the swoozy sound of blues

makes you want to confess every sin

you’ve ever thought about or had; 

you understand now why it’s done

each week by those better than you,

worse than you.  

Blessed be Father, you’ve sinned in roles

so clichéd they’re foolproof. You’ve

counted cards, counted beats,

counted wedding band absences

reflected in bar mirrors. Lean back

into that saxophone onstage

and the quick wink of the player—

and yes, he is a player—

catch the harmonica outside playing

a hymn just for you. The blues

are the blues, but that don’t mean

you have to be blue. Keep your spirits up

and your game to yourself, and never

mark your calendar with sad anniversaries,

just lean into that saxophone, 

drift off into all the colors it offers.

 

Tobi Alfier is published nationally and internationally. Credits include War, Literature and the Arts, The American Journal of Poetry, KGB Bar Lit Mag, Washington Square Review, Cholla Needles, James Dickey Review, Gargoyle, Permafrost, Arkansas Review, Anti-Heroin Chic, and others.  She is co-editor of San Pedro River Review (www.bluehorsepress.com).