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Samba Soliloquy
by Wayne Wolfson
Chartreuse-eyed tigers gazed down on me from the wall. She was in the kitchen mixing paint with some of my cigar ash. It was that which I had allowed her to capture. Her life was ship wrecked, upon the remains of her youth. The late night pick up and secrets told to a stranger. ...
This Years Kisses
by Wayne Wolfson
We shared a mic. I hung back a little, I did not want her to have to strain. If so, I would be blamed later, like in the old days. The peace of voice and horn broken hours later by backstage accusations as I try to swallow my drink. Let her concentrate on ...
Edge of Blue
by Wayne Wolfson
Edge of Blue For Andrea Parkins A bored audience. I hate them, I need them. Not even pulling Holly on stage for an impromptu reunion stirs them from their indifference. Ah, I hate begging you, murder the night, please don't let me see it. Dispose of the ...
Nahtalia's Perfect Blues
by Wayne Wolfson
The place was empty, even of the tourists who don't matter. I won't be paid to play, this too does not matter. The piano squints, letting a few notes slip out, before I am told to leave it alone for fear of having to stand me a round. No money and not even the ...
Silent Encores
by Wayne Wolfson
Her presence enforced a silence. It was Sunday night all over again, having to play “Autumn Leaves for drunken tourists. Afterwards, having to sit around and wait until Eggs deemed fit to give us our pay. Those late hours, they trick you, never advancing at normal or expected speed. The established ...
Holly
by Wayne Wolfson
She had said it was “a hotel where artists go to die with a certain amount of relish. All right, I could give her that if it made her happy. Still, I would try to avoid her until all my teeth were sharp enough.Suppers eaten too early. Spending a week hidden away in my ...
Hippo Funereal
by Wayne Wolfson
It has been raining for five days. The sky remains dark, but all the leaves of the trees have become strangely luminescent. A Deagas painting set outside the city with its theaters which he loved. Except for when they are very young, no other animal preys upon the hippo. After their first year they gain about ...
Lauren
by Wayne Wolfson
She picked up two stolen plastic ashtrays and tried to play them, castanets. I toss my ghost, my hat and coat over reached the dead back of the couch, a hounds tooth sky, tiny square dirty white stars. Cleaned with wine, held under a low murmuring horn we kiss, and lower. You ...
Bird
by Wayne Wolfson
A rainy day. Charlie Parker bemoans “All The Things You Are. A puff of smoke through a crack in the window. There is no place to go, and he is already there.She is still sleeping. My eyes dart about the room, bird trapped within its cage. Her arms, birthed from beneath the pillows. She ...
