Teahouse of the Almighty

for John Lee Hooker

First, you got to get the blues.

This is easy if you are a person of any gender,

and possess a pulse, a cheating lover,

a stalking ex-lover, a used Yugo, a pumping heart,

an empty wallet, a half-dead dog, an empty frigerator,

one last cigarette butt, a good memory, a nosy mama,

a lonely room, a quick trigger, roving eyes,

an addiction to whiskey,

nothing but the clothes on your back,

a jones for your neighbor’s wife,

a jones for your wife’s neighbor,

a positive test result,

an itching to leave,

an itching to stay,

or any itching where there shouldn’t be any.

Rub your hands slow over your body,

feel the valleys, the wrongs. Let misery

chomp your spine toward collapsing,

let it fold your whole self double.

Then you can walk like John Lee Hooker do—

click shuffle, bent over, nose to the ground,

wearing a cocked brim felt fedora that wouldn’t dare fall off.

Then you can think like John Lee do—

I’m old as victrola,

if I want to feel a woman,

but I can still

sing better

than you