Be-Bop

A Blue Note Release

Every single time
I’d turn on the radio
To let a jazz selection
Come crooning through
He’d hunker up
From a Mesopotamian slumber
And immediately slap

The palms from each of his hands
To each of his knees and exclaim:
“Ahhh… Green Dolphin Street…
Now there’s a song!”

Is it really any wonder
They make records
With titles like When Elephants
Think 0f Music?

He would then fall
Into a curious foot-tapping cadence
All his own and I would
Try to avoid his eyes for a few
Beats until the disc jockey came in
To talk over the out chorus

Letting us both know
That for now anyway
We had been listening to Clifford
Brown’s version of You Go
To My Head

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