At The Concert

                     by   Joanne Allen

In the old Quaker House

where the time

on the round face of

the clock

above the door

is always

almost a quarter past two


She stole him her

most winsome smile

he gave the slightest of nods

the jazz duet

played on

that Sunday afternoon


When she thought she caught him

watching her

she flushed

her pert curls bobbed


She'd seen him before

dark jacket

walking in the town


But then, just as the trombone struck up

did she see

a twinkle in his eye

meant for her?


He adjusted his long legs

under the pew

crisscrossed his brogues

and faced her


Through the lead chequered windows

the moon was blue

in the twilight

of the old Quaker House

where the time was


just about

a quarter past two.


© Copyright   Joanne Allen - THACS Writers Online 2020