by Peter Erich
Enter Tipitina's — the rotation hole
where electric, shoeless uncles
allocate their copper goulashes
to catch white dripwater.
In the predawn,
in this open window asteroid awareness,
ballet chimes spinning, ceiling, sink
& doorbell.
For the crescent caretaker, the overcoat,
the impalpable void having an affair
within the rain soaked arteries of New Orleans,
we are running down the stairs - snare drum,
snare drum,
snare drum —
squeak & turn on the banister rail,
Because Professor Longhair is on stage
whistling, a lamplit Moses laughing
with filthy vigor and toddling fingers.
He's playing an electroscope blues like a hurricane,
a frenzy which stirs our drink clean.
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There is some subtext here. Professor Longhair is a a jazz musician, 1918-1996 and there is a huge painting of him at Tipitina's Bar. Tipitina's is one of New Orleans best jazz spots and a place Longhair performed at often. This is a first draft.
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The last line's a (great) killer: "a frenzy which stirs our drink clean."
I really enjoyed the movement in this, even the sound becoming action "like a hurricane"
Nice.
Thanks Susan. I appreciate the time you took to read and comment on my piece. I thought there was nothing more fitting than the word hurricane in those last few lines. :) Thanks again.
-Pete