Listen to this
clarinet swing,
he says,
playing a song
on his phone.
That’s Benny Goodman.
The King of Swing,
the Sultan of Smooth,
the Rambo of Rhythm
and Romance.
Really? Rambo?
Jazz is jungle
and jam, yo!
Plum sweetness
from the first note
to the last,
broken time
put together again.
Benny Goodman is the fixer, dude.
He’s sway and swoon,
groove and drive,
melody in your steps,
“Bumble Bee Stomp,”
butter when you talk,
a chance to dance
offbeat,
an in-the-pocket wish
to come true.
Blue wings
that fly you
to the moon
and back.
Oh, well that explains it completely, I say, shaking my
head. How’d he die? I ask, knowing he’s gonna tell me
anyway.
June 13, 1986.
Benny was taking a nap,
snoozing and doozin’,
then BAM!
But I guess
if you gotta go,
that’s the way
to do it.