French Quarter Singer by Jennifer Reeser

Strumming your polished guitar with long, nail-lightened fingers,
where are you now, leaning forward a peasant-dressed arm –
lark on the near side of midnight, my crescent curb lady,
ear to your sound, dangling each with a silver folk charm?
Sweet was your voice for an evening, amid the brash jazzy –
seamless soprano, your scales a tough, platinum thread.
Angel on brick, tipping jar at your feet, were you happy
smiling at me through the blonde of your half-hanging head?
Monies I dropped in its opening I have forgotten.
Doubtless you spent them with virtue as pure as your song.
And if you didn’t, no damage, oh cantor of sugar:
Fair was your all for one night. You will keep my love long.

by Jennifer Reeser

Other poems by 'Jennifer Reeser'

Blue-Crested Cry

Leaning Over Eros

This Night Slip, In His Honor

Civic Centre

Should You Ask At Midnight

Civilization

Imagining you’d come to say goodbye...

Renunciation

Miscarriage

By This Pitch And Motion

Search Poems
e.g. love, marriage, kids

Popular poems this week

In Silence We Left

The Lost Dances of Cranes

The Author to her Book

Summer Evening

The Lesson

A chilly Peace infests the Grass

You Fit Into Me

To Mæcenas

mr youse needn't be so spry..

Oh, honey of an hour