I used to go to Theresa's, a bar on the southside of Chicago where the music was always great and the dancing wild.  Most of the time, me and my friends were the only white guys there, but we didn't care.  

The music was hot.

I'm in the middle of writing a sequel to my murder mystery Suitcase Charlie, and the sequel has my detecives Hank and Marvin checking out Theresa looking for a guy who may or may not have killed a golden retriever.  That's right.  Cops looking for a dog killer.

Anyway, here's a piece of the chapter, done up as a poem.

Blues at Theresa's, 1969

A short, fat Black man
in a red wool cap with a yellow
puff ball on top kills
his harmonica, grinding
his face into it and twisting
his body like a snake--twisting
tighter and tighter as his mouth
organ’s notes get shriller and
shriller, like some kind of raggedy
insect screaming in static moans
about the end of the world

Views: 33

Comment by koshersalaami on February 14, 2017 at 12:04pm

Poem's good

Comment by JMac1949 Today on February 14, 2017 at 12:07pm

...the end of the world.  Most excellent.  R&L

Comment by alsoknownas on February 14, 2017 at 12:21pm

I've lived in it John.

the blues will talk to you

when you don't want to listen

when the darkness surrounds

when the only thing left

is that faint hope you'll be heard

before sunrise reminds you

to try one more time

to make sense of

the noise

Comment by John Guzlowski on February 14, 2017 at 12:25pm

Also Known As,

It's like you're reading my chapter.  That's where the Theresa's chapter leads.  A cold snowy night, a cop standing in front of a building wondering if he did the right thing 12 years earlier when he killed the guy who lived there.

Comment by nerd cred on February 14, 2017 at 1:38pm

good and Yay!

Comment by Rosigami on February 14, 2017 at 5:47pm

What a great way to hear. Thank you, John and alsoknownas, for the music inside the poetry. Exquisite.

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