Juncture

Late at night, alone
She walks the quiet avenue
Erect and proud with an air about her
That seems to say she owns the street
Stopping at an appealing spot
She orders a drink and listens
Through the open door
To the mournful sounds of a saxophone
In a club across the street.

Finishing his gig for the night
He carefully cleans and puts away
What he has come to think of as his life
The pure essence of the man
Then joins the others for one tall frosty one
Leaves the club turning at the corner
And with his saxophone held close
Heads down the late night street
To his one-room flat and more nothing.

She also leaves, heading back
down the quiet avenue
They meet at the corner
exchange a smiling glance
She feels her heart skip a beat
Then thinks about her flight in the morning
He thinks about her and feels
the moisture on his palms
Both stop to gaze in shop windows
Supremacy over temptation battle within both
They continue on their separate ways
While destiny screams at their rejection

© Marcia Miller-Twiford