It had been an effort -
the getting there.
A long way too
and the weather was foul.

As for the parking?
Superlatively expensive -
like the glass of Shiraz
(gulped hastily to beat the bell) .

But when the house lights dimmed
and the band lifted their instruments,
and brass and woodwinds
burst forth with bright voices,
my heart danced.

'Chasing Sheep is Best Left to Shepherds'
(I know every bar)
had accompanied my Alice and her White Rabbit
on their looking glass journey
ten years ago.

'An Eye for Optical Theory'
was there in the flesh,
rhythm upon rhythm
punching the air.
Frenetic,
compulsive,
effervescent.

The master himself
spoke not a word,
but sat black-coated,
driving his piano -
like Schumacher behind the wheel.

When the night was over,
I floated home
clutching my new CD
with its autograph in black texta.

Alison Cassidy

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-night-with-nyman/