It was the big band era, lots of brass
Billy whalin’ on the drums
while Johnny waited for his riff
makin’ the keyboard swing.
And me, standin’ on the riser
my long arms waitin’ too.
“Wing span of a hawk” mama said,
just the ticket for a trombone man.
Yeah, I could slide that brass
hear the notes clear and smooth
no strings or keys,
just that long sleek glide.
And Mabel at the mic,
feathers clipped in henna dyed hair
sultry voice in the sweet spots
hips, always swingin’ to the beat.
Never made it big like the Duke
but we had our gigs.
A glass of gin between sets
and smoke swirlin’ round our heads.
They’re all gone now.
Pawned my ‘bone long time ago.
But sometimes, while I’m sittin’ here
I can put myself there.
I close my eyes and start to sway
Mabel leanin’ real close like she did.
I wheel this chair around a bit
and I can feel us back there again,
swingin’ to that big band sound.
Rescored for dVerse Poetics Fantasia. This was originally posted in 2015, inspired by Carl Sandburg’s Jazz Fantasia. I’ve reworked it a bit — thinking it a good one for today’s prompt. I am hosting dVerse today — wonderful experience. In the words of Carl Sandburg, Go to it oh jazzmen!