While Mingus Played.

Mingus Jazz

plays on the hifi

in the next room.

Washing sways gently

in the morning breeze.

No birds search the lawn

for cast out bread

nor has the young fox

trotted up along

the garden path

seeking left overs.

A trombone player

pumps out a solo.

She enters my head

and the summer kiss

half century ago

beneath a warm sun

and blue sky.

A trumpet player

blows a hot solo

into the morning air.

I gaze up

at the morning sky for birds

but none is there.