Saturday, October 12, 2019

Twelve Bar Lullaby a blues for Geoffrey. By Jedediah Smith




When your best friend lies dead 
there’s no more singing the blues
they’re sung 
or back seat drinking rum
it’s gone
slipped out the same backdoor 
where it all began


the plans
aren’t plans
no more
’cause they’re buried


Just another felt hat   
(but he wore sunglasses at the movies)
Just another redneck
(but he owned six pairs of identical purple jeans)
Just another flash in the American night 
driving on the edge
so long


No more key
no more kingdom
no more starting over


Only odd sideway stares
at a long grey box
and one less voice.
We’re sung.





Jedediah Smith teaches literature, mythology, and whatever he can get away with at City College of San Francisco. His poetry has been published in California Quarterly, Ekphrastic Review, Mojave River Review, and The American Journal of Poetry. He also edited Parlando: Collected Poems of Ray Clark Dickson.

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