The Tell   Oh, you’re good. The way you walk, with your long- legged saxophone sashay, and your laugh, like ice cubes in a cocktail glass, a song on the oldies-but-goodies station, half an hour from home and not a cop in sight, “Sophisticated Lady,” maybe. “My Funny Valentine” sounds so good at night, barely a major key, a secret life of hurts endured, hurts inflicted, of shame concealed with smiles, the heart’s elusive code of righteous style refusing to be wrong, brushes on the snare. Oh, they know your game, those jazz guys. Do you think that I don’t know? Do you think I didn’t know all along?     © Michael Fleming Brattleboro, Vermont May 2011