Poetry: Baritone Saxophone

The wooden floors of the quaint cafe tremble 

As the baritone saxophone is being delicately rendered 

We write in our times of distress 

But as the violin whispers in the ambience 

As the rain plunks onto the pavement 

And as the strange bald middle aged man, without a wrinkle on his forehead

Drops a needle on each key of his piano 

As I glance at the faces on the relatively unfamiliar people 

Whom I feel rather connected with to 

Not a word of hatred is on the tip of this ink stained page 

The chronic circumstances that I find intolerable 

The obnoxious couple in the corner being grotesquely in considerate of the world around them 

The rude elder gentleman, with the thick mustache going about ignorantly glaring at me 

The young women constantly gabbing, chattering away

Doesn't even seem to perplex me, 

The baritone saxophone 

The violin 

A drop of the needle on the keyboard 

The attractive mans deep soulful voice and vaguely identifiable sounds like an accordian 

Harmonize this  dim lighted room 

And motivate me to initiate a step into the brightly lighted room 

Across the poorly paved street.