Fart Wobble Boogie

95 degrees
getting hotter by the day
I'm walking toward Trader Joe's
contemplating the important questions in life:
should I dye my hair lavender
and
how do I avoid buying the triple ginger cookies?
 
Outside the entrance  
a man is playing the saxophone
the word playing
in this case
is generous
 
He blows single low notes
that hang in the air
unpleasantly
embarrassingly.
 
There's no song
just deep, low, reverberating blasts
that decorum dictates
shouldn't be done in public
 
As I enter the store
a name for his aural emissions comes to me:
Fart Wobble Boogie.
 
Once inside,
embraced by air conditioning
I contemplate giving the fartophonist some money
but that will only encourage him
 
I successfully dodge the thought
 
along with the triple ginger cookies