Bill Evans

a glass of scotch on the piano
in a photo, black and white
the player hard at work
on a forty-five

emotionless and calm
with unbreaking concentration
picking out the notes
somewhere off camera

a cigarette held patiently
between his parted lips
scanning the situation
with half-closed eyes

eyes of a surgeon
keen and calculating
sizing up the keys
where his fingers follow

you’d expect to see those eyes
on the face of a watchmaker
leaning hunched over a table
assembling parts

neither surprising nor complex
yet he always finds the notes
saying only the right thing
at the right time

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