Painting by Richard Harvey
Delta Blues
You’re sitting at a bar, sucking up
smoke from cheap cigars and unfiltered
cigarettes in a room-full of drunks
and ramblers, good-time girls
and grifters. From a makeshift stage,
a wizened old guitar picker drops
blue notes into your head like quarters
in your own personal juke box.
His calloused fingers fly across
the frets, soaking that wood with every
drop of sorrow he’s ever known.
Seems like a man should roll a stone
over hurt that deep, but here he is,
lifting it up like Lazarus for anybody
lucky enough to listen.
Terri Kirby Erickson
Posted over on The Smoking Poet
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