Charles D. Jay died on October 12, 2011
My great uncle
I never said one word to him my whole life
In the will he left my grandma everything
He was crushed after the death of his wife in 2010
And then the death of his dog Sandy in early 2011
Then like clockwork colon cancer

Walking into that house
The smell of coffee and old carpet
A smell I was all too flamiliar with
Growing up in Southern Baptist churches
You can't get away from stuff like that

He left it all in that house
Just packed in
Room after noon
Were talking about a little mansion here
He had a dining room and everything
Big old piano that he must have enjoyed playing
I took that old thing and loaded up all by myself in the back of a pick up and now its at home
In the middle of my livingroom
With drink circles and ash trays like at some club

Making it back to the house
I checked his study
Filled with books
And beautiful black vinyl records
Every single jazz musician from Dizzy to Armstrong
He had em' all the standards- the jivers-big band-street bands
Even the priceless club jam sessions
People clapping
And yellin
Hollerin'
Trumpets and sax
Foot tapping
Needless to say
I spent the rest of that night drunk on Charle's most expensive bottle of gin
Jazz records
Pulled from sleeves
On the couch
Covering the floor
Every record he had ever bought
That was his real funeral
Because I know if I died
I would want someone to listen through every song I ever loved