JAZZ IN THE GARDEN
In memory of my friend Di, who loved jazz
socially distant spots among gone-over hollyhocks,
straggly white roses, fragile pink wood-anemones,
tune up, launch into ‘Ice-cream’, their
sax, trombone, bass,
rhythm from a washboard. An audience gathers
in the road, curious, appreciative, generous
with applause. A few sit to listen.
Di would have
loved it. When she became too ill
to join us, I used to phone, let her
listen to the band’s rehearsals. This afternoon
I feel her death
with every beat.