Poems - Issue 1
Louis Armstrong's Arrival
You get there late, looking for Joe, guessing
you should’ve made the early train, missed
for a Storyville funeral. Better late, you say,
than never: Little Louis, fresh from the Delta,
spotted by a Red Cap there in the concourse,
give-away cornet case hugged under an arm.
Man, are you for the King? The new second horn?
That porter is right first time. You’re reeling
to hear Joe Oliver’s boast, the rank he’s fixed
for himself. And reeling again at this place,
at its pace, eyeing the buildings and thinking:
Sure do reach the sky. Soon you’re off in a cab,
bound for the club – where they’re on stage
already, Joe and the boys. And you’re driving
down State Street, on track for the show till
you’re up there, the best of them, that much
you know. Making a mark on the new world
of jazz, you’ll set it to spin when you blow.