The End

The piano stands solitary and alone

She has locked the doors tight

The last of the drunks sent on their way

She sits down on his stool, empty for weeks

She caresses the keys softly before pushing

A solitary note, a high tinkling sound

She smiles as memory washes over her

She is rusty but recognisable

The feel of the keys beneath her fingers

Elating her beyond reason

She forgets about the bus home

The essays due in tomorrow are gone

Her voice is quiet, still shy despite

Being alone in the room

She wishes it was full of smoke again

The sound of crashing glasses and conversation

Drowning her out, drowning out her song

She pulls down the piano covers and smiles

Stroking her hand along the top

She wonders where he is, what he’s doing

She wonders if the manager had hired

A new jazz singer yet, he would have to

It couldn’t be The Jazz Club without one

She pours herself a glass of Jack Daniels,

Sits and wonders…