Tonight

A hand pivots at the wrist,
finds a groove,
measures out the night in finger-snaps.

The headlamps of a 1938 Buick Roadmaster
flash on as the engine growls -

CLICK

The neon on the roof of the Plaza Hotel
calls out your name -

CLICK

Up in the Bronx, a drummer is dreaming
of a syncopated firing squad -

CLICK

On stage at The Strand, Louis Prima is throwing bananas
into the crowd and planning a divorce -

CLICK

In a coldwater tenement loft, junk fingers
press out the first faint notes of bebop -

CLICK

In the wild, imperfect night, a saxophonist
fucks up your lipstick -

CLICK

A boy and a girl hold hands on a dance floor,
silent, waiting for the world to begin -

CLICK

The hand pivots up,
reaches delicately for the microphone,
and a legend is born.