Saturday Night

Saturday night,
“Follow my voice”,
spoke through particles
as the wind kissed my ears.
It came as a melody of
Rim shots
dancing fingers on strings
and tenor sax piano keys.

 Saturday night,
I followed that voice.
A sign that read,
Blues of St. Louis,
nailed on a wooden door
of a three story brownstone
on the corner of Broadway Ave.
Saturday night,
I walked into a wooden mouth.
A long wooden bar
with tall wooden chairs,
Wooden servers, chefs and bartenders.
Neapolitan people
Loved fried anything with
potatoes and greens
Wrists snapped    
Tongues tapped
Smiles sung
and toes jammed.

 Blue ancestors
winked and smiled from the wall
almost knowing
that Saturday night

will linger on Sunday.