Man Under The Bridge

I had no intention
of creating a moment
a well guarded memory
to return to
when I'm old and faded
But on that humid afternoon
in an underpass of a bridge
He stood leaning
against steamy brick
wailing his sax
open case hoping for coins
or some silent offering

I remember the cool glance
you flashed to dismiss him
But I stopped
because I could not move on
while he played that song
I needed to hear
as he ended the melody
and I wanted to be Ingrid
But this is not Paris
and it wasn't you
waiting to meet that train.

.

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