Blues Map
The blues
shake you to reflex,
you get up off
the killing floor,
eyes unflinching;
sardonic boulder
leaning into cool.
The last cigar holds
a last amusement.
The lady
in the midnight dress
knows your moods;
she’s a skylark
sweeping through
a vacant chapel,
sailing on your musings,
resting on the memory
you hand her
on your way back
into solitude.
When the time comes
to sing, there’s no tune
too distant;
you set it down.
close and humble.
Those who hear you
know which turn
to take
off Highway 59.
About the author
RC James lives in Albuquerque, New Mexico – cooling it in quarantine, waiting for release and relief like everybody else in these toxic times. He occupies himself at the keyboard writing when circumstances don’t block the output. The rest of the time he plays blues guitar and harmonica.
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