Wind Over Harlem

I belt

the blues

echoing Lady Ella’s alto

       carving five-story

              red brick

                apartments on

                         Harlem’s horizon

        I carry

        sorrow like a violin’s whine

        wafting through windows

             harassing curtains

                 like ragged Mack

                     with his passers-by

                            down there

                                 he clutches bottle and tin cup

                                                           on the corner

                I drift

                a thin line   balancing

                my beat between

                    b  r  e  e  z  y and BUFFETING

                             Sweeping leaves and cigarette

                                   halves across the street Carefully

                                           teasing Tessa’s tresses

                                                     braids new-set and shining

                        I was

                        birthed by Papa’s

                                 G A L E  F O R C E temper

                                  smashing bashing

                                               CLASHING

                                                    on cold-front Mama

No wonder

I feel right blowing

     my song Swaying

         the beat on

             these hot-blooded streets