We were listening to jazz on the patio of a bar in New Orleans.
It was a cool night and the band was passing around a solo.
The light was dim and everywhere there was a feeling of wellness
being edified by drinks.
My girl said she had to go to the bathroom
and when she'd stood up
and went
the guy at the next table
leaned over to me and said,
“Mmm mm Mm! I wouldn’t mind going home with that every night!"
He had cut-off jean shorts and insane blue eyes
that I followed across the patio
to a thin and beautiful woman holding her purse
winding through the tables
in a silky green dress:
my girl.
I leaned back in my seat
and remembered how it was to be driven mad
by the sight of women--
not love at first sight,
which implies a sort of serendipity,
but the indiscriminate sexual craving
that is like hunger
and has nothing at all to do with chance.
Looking at him,
I felt no fire.
I’d hit the jackpot
and forgotten how it was to be alone,
forgotten the old way,
forgotten my people,
perhaps even become arrogant,
which is the greatest sin.
If he was loneliness come back to visit me
I owed him something more nuanced
than knocking his teeth out.
Anyways, it was only a matter of time
before I was back on his team.
“Sometimes I get lucky,” I offered and he nodded,
but he was thinking “Bullshit,”
and I thought he was probably right.
I listened to the music
and thought of how to explain this.
The drummer had begun his solo.
He stretched it out, improvising.
Across from me, the empty metal chair
rattled from the bass.
And just when it seemed like noise,
he stopped.
I’ve never been much of a gambler.
More often than not
I put up more than I can afford to lose.
I never turn down a bet, especially when I’m hurting,
and I don’t care about the odds.
If that’s luck, then I’m lucky,
but I don’t think that’s it.
It’s recklessness,
and if you’re true to it
you better learn to enjoy the payouts.
So I bought us two drinks I couldn’t really afford
and made his a double.
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