Too old to backflip, somersault—
trademarks of his wild man days,
tonight, paunchy, jowly, grand old man
still grinds fat-toned guitar licks, prowls
the stage lip, his black hair streaming,
eyes hidden under the brim of his brown
cowboy hat. He enters the crowd
and plays it sexy to the women,
plays it with his tongue, behind his
back, across his ass, and the audience howls.
We’re all on our feet and
the darkened auditorium vibrates,
with shouts of “tell it, man,” “oh, yeah,”
whoops and groans amid the blistering
pyrotechnics of Guitar Shorty. Grinding
blues, Texas shuffle, New Orleans funk,
his electric Fender screams, cajoles, seduces.
For a moment I stop my clapping,
head-bobbing and hip-shaking,
sit down in my seat and smile,
remember, this was the music
that once made me want to
take my clothes off.
It still does.
moved to California in 1962 and to San Diego County in 1974, which she hopes qualifies
her as a “local.” Her poetry life began when she worked in marketing
at the Old Globe Theatre for several years. She is the author of a chapbook, Spoon
(Finishing Line Press, 2013), and Gateways: Poems of Nature, Meditation and
Renewal (Caernarvon Press, 2005). Her work has been published in several
journals and anthologies including: Blue Arc West, City Works, San Diego Writers
Ink, Magee Park, The Christian Science Monitor, The Reader, and Serving House
Journal.
She believes “retirement” is an active verb which propels her poetry,
workshops, volunteer work at KSDS Jazz 88.3 FM, and attendance at many theater and
jazz performances each year.
www.sylvialevinson.com