My Other Jazz Poem

The Village Wordsmithy


I wish I was driving an old Coup de Ville
racing the moon to the crest of the hill
top down, ‘Trane on, one lucky gal by my side,
and on past that old devil moon we would ride

Rolling up to a club, stop, park, and take five
where the band members smoke, talking their jive
fine-tuning and synchin’ their cool jazz machine
Jill straightens her stockings, black nylon seam
leads the eyes up shapely cheerleader thighs
into taffeta mystery, source of tenor sax sighs….

I wish I was in a hot club in Paree, off the Champs Elysees,
Django strumming and picking, Grapelli’s violin swirling.
le mustache a’twirling, and with grape, goatee, and beret
my charms win the arms of un jeune fille for the day…..

I wish I was in a bad-ass Spad, machine-gun drumming
along to Satchmo’s Hot Five, or his hotter-yet Seven
Scarf watching my back, whipping this way and that
seeking Junkers and Fokkers and Halberstadts.
We are soloists…

View original post 108 more words

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