Alla Breve Loving

Three people drinking out of the bottle in the living room. A cold rain. Quiet as a mirror. One of the men stuffs his handkerchief in his coat, climbs the stairs with the girl. The other man is left sitting at the desk with the wine and the headache, turning an old Ellington side over in his mind. And over. He held her like a saxophone when she was his girl. Her tongue trembling at the reed. The man lying next to her now thinks of another woman. Her white breath idling before he drove off. He said something about a spell, watching the snow fall on her shoulders. The musician crawls back into his horn, ancient terrapin at the approach of the wheel.