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- (for herbie mann)
the tune
was groovy
as a blue sky,
smog-free
summer day
when the
washington senators
actually beat
somebody --but what
made our record
collections esoteric
(or so we thought)
was the flute;likewise blue,
terse as
my paternal
grandpa --
but,
you know,
baby,
jazzy.and the guitarist --
who knew
the phone number
of the blues,
but didnt
name drop.i borrowed
father's beret
and forgotten ray-bans,
then rejoined
joey holliday
in our still-unfinished
basement --(more 45s than
a firing range)to nurse co-colas,
and bob our heads
like metronomes
with polite,
middle class afros,visions of
geek-free
nightclubs
in our minds.
reuben jackson
8/6/03© copyright
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