My Father’s Music

Smokey blues drift out onto the street
from a place that seems like night
even in mid day.

A voice, vaguely like Dinah Shore’s,
but smoky and hard,
sings softly.

This is your father’s music.
As a child you shunned it. As a man
you embraced it.

And now you listen as you walk
slowly down the street,
the music fading as night falls.

About this poem

My father is fading away. Every time I go see him, he’s lost more weight. He’s like a shell right now.

He taught me to love the blues. Not at first, but in time, I grew to love the sound of a clarinet wailing softly in the night, or a low, sad song in an almost minor key.

The picture was taken in Memphis.

Tom