Jazz Class

or

What You Want

Why does the man behind the bar remind me
of an evening years past at 19th & Roy
when the Stones blared as the room spun
and slid into a step-ball-change?

We waited in line for the combo.
What made it so hard that night?
We were gliding and rising,
missing that last percent.

From the far side of the studio,
I swear I saw a younger him cross the floor,
face creased concentration.
I hoped I would get another turn

while Mick belted it out—and if I beat
my head for another decade against that wall,
one night I saw a glimpse
of the writing on it.