Poem

Rock n roll cowgirl watches,

from where she always stood,

wearing boots and spurs

And singing make-believe

About the tears of a love she never had,

That’s what she yearned for harmony

until she heard a piano in her room

The flying chords

And hands and pedals blurred

Brought deepest by the black key chords

‘And old Black men standing round,

Telling stories of why they played

Some died before the new guitar was made and

Rich greedy eyes beheld those fancy Rose-petaled arms

In dresses draped hiding longer golden hair,

And the band now needed

saxophones

Run now to this place

you found

this new refuge

To this ghetto poem made of undergrounds

Deep inside your white girl jazz

You play well those mystic chords of old school

But never on the radio

Play until we think you always played

Those songs of pain

Inside you now.

-atg