I saw Stephan Crump‘s Rosetta Trio at Barbes in Brooklyn last month. This poem was inspired by a few phrases Stephan used while introducing the tunes. That’s his bass in the photo below.
how the west was lost
meanwhile back in the bar…
two guitar players tell road stories
sweat gliding down their faces
hands plucking phantom strings
their whiskey long drunk
their beer glasses dry
eyes unfocused by drink and memory
as the bar slowly empties
finally it’s just the bartender
wiping down the wood
half listening to the tales
he’s heard so many times
a sawdust cowboy
disappears over a distant hill
the rumble of hoofbeats
rolling through this August valley
Comments