Slow Blues in B flat
On the turn
around he nods
to me,
my time to solo
kindly please
I ask,
give me
twice round,
guitar man, leader
of the band,
twelve bars of blues
ain’t enough
to cut through
I’m gonna need
to close my eyes
and ease into
this groove
I’m asking please
grant me reprieve,
maybe this once
even three
times round,
a little space
to breathe
into this hand
sized harp I cup and
start to softly play:
give me that bass
oozing slow and steady,
give me that twisted
gnarled beat,
give me those
guttural bends
on your guitar strings
let me weave
these secrets
I’ve kept
under wraps
unexpressed
locked in my chest,
under the influence
of love loss, hard liquor,
fine weed
weave them all
into a pentatonic
tapestry
3 thoughts on "Slow Blues in B flat"
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Nice groove to this poem. Makes me want to go listen to a good Blues band.
Title drew me in and the poem held me in the music your words show.
I love the internal monologue this speaker has going on- great building of anticipation.