The iron gates provided the back drop

to the sound of the saxophone

exploring its way up the hill towards

the rampant hostages of wine, women

and unlikely song birds hanging

in the explosion of Tuesday night

football and angry flash

points of possible danger and caress

driven anxiety; the odd yellow card

and scowl as the touch of thigh

through opaque stockings

was to some a thrill they were willing to chase

in the darkness of self deluded heroics.

 

The night air was blissful as the saxophone