The Talent Poems

 

Puzzled

In Noble Coffee, Harry Reems was
struggling with a crossword puzzle
when an old codger walked in and
ordered a double latte with skim
before peering in his direction.

Harry thought, who is this grizzled
old fool?  The graybeard looked right at
him and Harry turned away, undone
by his steely gaze, which if he had
admitted it, was cowardly of him.

He seems like a crazy dude, Harry said
to himself, feeling the old man’s roving
eyes as they burned into his back; he
was coming over to say something,
Reems knew as the crank drew nearer.

The old stranger looked down at Harry
and smiled. “Having trouble with that,
Mr. Reems?”  Annoyed, Harry covered
the puzzle, unused to being  recognized.
“Sir,” he said, “have we met before?”

“You’re the horn player!  I was a big fan
of yours in Portland years ago when you
played with Mel Brown at Jimmy Mak’s!”
Harry relaxed.  “No kidding?” he said.  “I
guess I don’t know you.  I’m very sorry.”

“Don’t be, friend.  The name’s Dooley.”
“Dooley,” Reems said. “A fan...really?”

TS