IN THE BIG APPLE

IN THE BIG APPLE
by BZ Niditch

In a spurt of light
my sax waits for me
wishing to be part
of a new world
jazz symphony,
like any fresh violet
snuggling up
from the earth
already missing
Andy and Edie
from the Factory
whose gates
have closed,
wanting to again
believe in art
and not commercials,
to be undisturbed
on a wall
full of my city’s graffiti
by a back alley
in the Big Apple
on a a wintry dog day
I’m driving in my taxi
blowing sax riffs
as rain showers
like dusty shadows
fall on the windshield
and in my poncho
I lost at L.A.X.
fed up with no energy
left in my travel,
my head stuck down
from the cops
in traffic lanes
of so many hours
with uneasy streets
picking up my friend
by a dark doorway
of the club
with dying flowers
intoxicated by the night.