Under the shade
Of the withered, twisted, olive tree
He sips, through a straw
From his ice-bound Mojito
Lime, mint, rum
Not yet noon
Or leastways
Only shortly after
He turns his ear
To the jazz saxophonist
To the sublime
Easy-goes-it, rhythm section
Music, love, life
Not yet
Over, or done with
No, not anyway near
