WEBmikey: Diz is Dead

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Diz is Dead
5.01.2000 12:42 PM \| Link	As the cab pulled away from the curb, the driver reached down to pick up a silver trumpet with his right hand, maneuvering through the wet San Francisco streets full of traffic with his left. It was then I noticed the music on the radio, slightly louder than the garbled voice of the dispatch, the way it seemed to affect this man. The mouthpiece to his lips, answering solos of the past with present breath, he detached from the meter, the steering wheel, the brake, the turn signal, leaving those things to operate themselves, taking time to converse and mourn. When I arrived at the hotel, the same jazz station was playing in the bar, accompanied only by ice clinking in raised glasses of scotch, twice as empty. Labels: poetry


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