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jacob-1Poems
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
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Jan 20, 2012
Jan 20, 2012 at 2:30 AM UTC
Jazz like Blue
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
jacob-1
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jacob-1
Equatorial Guinean
Jan 20, 2012
Jan 20, 2012 at 2:30 AM UTC
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