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This jazz pallete weeps with greed 
for the return of some bebop 
and crooning bleeds.
Neon flagships that lit the night
with saxophones 
and trumpets bright.
This bird bottled in country twang
is popping the cork
for some bluesy swang.
Spinning the vinyl under needled arm
baritones ripple 
as nerves are darned.
Shattered glass begins to mend
as the mellow tones
declare the end.
Grooves of doo-wop will pep the step
when all that’s encumbered
has been swept.
Dat dootin doo-dat is where it’s at
as to these artists
I tip my hat.
Taking a dip in the oldie’s spring
lessens the rhythm
of living stings.
 
© Debra Squyres 01/24/16

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