Street lights come on
as evening falls
and her guest arrives.

Her dogs welcome him
with barks, howls,
an occasional growl.

She puts on some music.
He comments on the jazz
she chooses,

how the percussionist
commands the tune,
how each tap of the tom tom,

each clap of the high hat
measures the night in alternate
rhythms and spaces in time

against the uncorking
of wine, conversation,
glasses clinking,
laughter and lovemaking.

The dogs wait outside the bedroom door.

– Jonathan K. Rice