I take in a terrific piano concert: classic
ragtime, boogie-woogie, rhumba-boogie
from New Orleans, a couple of blues numbers.
Professor Longhair tribute. A boogie version
of the national anthem; it never sounded better.
The pianist’s fingers blur; from his left hand
the bass rumbles like a train under the street.
Beside him a drummer sits on a box-drum
he beats time on, and
I’m grooving,
moving
my body all over along with the drumbeat;
doing a jitterbug
sitting down.
Big smile all over my face.
Keeping time with every beat. If only
someone else would stand and dance!
The Texas town that I moved here from, lots
of people would have been up and dancing—
in the aisles, down front, at the back, anywhere
there was room. Shouts and whistles
between numbers, hair and feet flying.
This Midwest audience: the woman next to me
wears a cautious smile. A couple behind me
peer studiously at the pianist. A few people
tap feet or joggle their heads. That’s it?
After each number, polite applause.
I’m totally frustrated! And damn!
That curly-haired drummer is so hot
perched there on his cajón
with his twice-pierced ears
and the stud at the side of his nose.
Lynn D. Gilbert
Lynn D. Gilbert’s poems have appeared in Arboreal, Bacopa Literary Review, Blue Unicorn (Pushcart nomination), Consequence, Footnote, The Good Life Review, Sheepshead Review, and elsewhere. Her poetry volume has been a finalist in the Gerald Cable and Off the Grid Press book contests. A founding editor of Borderlands: Texas Poetry Review, she lives in a suburb of Austin and reviews poetry submissions for Third Wednesday journal.
