On seeing Mos Def

I wanted it so bad: to forgo the bills and boring, sundry activities
and throw myself into your beat your brow your poetry

but I had a lot of bills to pay and you know bills the paying of bills
the beat the brow the bills the money making –

so I didn’t go. I just kind of loitered around the bar
asking the question to which knew the answer:

"is it all sold out?" Receiving the news
I took it solemnly and silently, like a communion wafer,

and bought a drink to sit and think about the
way I waste my money on food and drink and never

your poetry your beat your brow your beat your poetry.
Just then you walked by

to sound check
accompanying the barmaid who’d just broken my heart.

Lightly dressed, in a crisp white shirt
short cuffed navy pants exposing clean white socks over black lace up shoes

you carried a small bag, sharp as a business man
with business here people see places things

I smiled at you, and you smiled at me,
and it was impeccably gentle.

Resting with my cheek against the cool wall of the bathroom
I listened to you through the concrete, rehearsing, hearing nothing

but the muffled beat of beats and bass
and tenderly held onto your smile

the moment of eye contact
the blink of an eye the beat the brow the poetry.