Notes from a Musical Interlude
Takes you right back to the big band sound, please don’t post comments here post them on the original site.
It was the big band era, lots of brass
Billy whalin’ on the drums
while Johnny waited for his riff
to make 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 holes or keys,
just that long sleek glide.
And Mabel at the mike,
feathers clipped in henna red hair
sultry voice in the sweet spots
hips, always swingin’ to the beat.
Never made it big like Dorsey or the Duke
but we had our own sweet spots,
a glass of gin between sets
and smoke rings 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.
My framed Mabel sits…
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