After Hours
written by: Connie Johnson
It’s late.
But I’m still looking good
& you couldn’t tell me
No different.
Home is a million miles away
& I didn’t come all this way
To go unseen.
It’s been a lifetime since the last time
I last saw you & the hour is late.
The hour is late…
Be the Satchmo to my Ella.
What you say feels like jazz to me
In a big easy world.
This city, this city
Where all is abundant love
Be the fellow who confiscates
All of my dreams. Bring me
Some good news
In this late hour.
Take what is tender & intended
For you.
Connie Johnson is a California-based writer with multiple Pushcart Prize nominations for poetry. Her publishing credits include The Iconoclast, Haight-Ashbury Literary Journal, San Pedro River Review, The Muleskinner Journal, Gargoyle, Sophon Lit, Voicemail Poems, Toasted Cheese Literary Journal, Mudfish, Shot Glass Journal, Four Feathers Press, Sheila-Na-Gig, Oddball Magazine, Glint Literary Journal, Exit 13, Sport Literate, and Writing in a Woman's Voice. She has authored two poetry collections: Everything is Distant Now (Blue Horse Press) and I Have Almost Everything (boats against the current); In a Place of Dreams, and Still Wild, her digital chapbooks (containing audio readings/personal narrative), were published by Jerry Jazz Musician.
Latest posts by Connie Johnson (see all)
- After Hours - July 5, 2026
- Going Solo - April 1, 2026
- On These Dark and Stormy Nights - November 2, 2025
