SAXY JANE AND THE CONDOM
Saxy Jane sits beneath the awning of the old Ben and Jerry's with her thighs splayed out like a cushion beneath her rippling waist. She sits, every day, in cut off jeans that leave a gap of white, hairy meat exposed above gray socks tucked into the black combat boots.
She plays the alto sax religiously--free form jazz repeating the same three riffs in ever-increasing volume and rapidity.
She has a real name, but no one cares because Saxy Jane suits her best. She has a bed tucked in an abandoned warehouse across town, but no one ever sees her anywhere but the Ben and Jerry's. She is my neighbor and I hate her desperately as her alto shrieks long past midnight, but I hesitate before dropping a condom filled with water from my third-story window when, for one note, she hits a sweet spot somewhere on the G scale.
It vibrates deep within me and in the moment before I release the Trojan, she and I connect along the sound wave.