Jukebelly

painting by justin bua


Jukebelly 


Blues man, blues man,
I can see you now,
midnight in the juke womb,
kerosene lights blazing
like your eyes through the smoke
close by the river
all the way out of town,
you getting the youngsters on their feet
twirling, spinning, hugging, shaking and smiling,
as you sit there strong in your spot,
strumming that old acoustic six-string,
smacking it on its bare butt,
lifting your bulk off the stool
with each vigorous slam;
the slide jumping around the frets
like a mad and ravenous metal insect,
eager to bend those chords, to blend them whole,
making that guitar wail, throb, and shiver,
making passionate love to it
like it was a pretty woman,
first gentle—then hard—
for those precious hours you serenade us 
with your deep delta delicious raspy voice,
punctuated poignant with kissing your shiny harp,
letting your busy tongue coax
the sweet sadness out of it—damn,
we are neither black nor white, no, no,
we’re just folks, part of the people
sharing one huge smile as we thump our feet,
pound our legs,
getting married to the rhythm you thrust out
into the hot smoky night.


Glenn Buttkus 


March 2009



Posted over on dVerse Poets-Poetics


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