Drinks with Buk, and
I'm half in the bag
when Miller Williams
shows up, he is from Hoxie
not far from where
I grew up and
I love his voice,
sort of half chant -half chat.
The bird blows his horn
for us and sometimes it's
Monk on piano,
but they are subtle.
Not like Buk,
he grabs me by
the cajones,
jars me into thought.
You've got to come
at 'em from
where you are
Got to be real with 'em.
I set aside his words
and stir the cubes
in my glass with my
finger, taste its wetness.
Crossing to the kitchenette,
the other side of the room,
I bump into Billy Collins
a new friend to me
but great for a laugh.
Digression is the key,
reasonably good grammar,
and a smooth digression.
Then, in that great way
he has, he makes me
smile like we have
a shared secret.
Monk attacks the keys,
like a meth laden
ninja with a fist full of
chinese throwing stars.
He doesn't say much
but now I am thinking
about cool broken rhythms
and improv technique.
Hungry.
Maybe some scrambled eggs
and whiskey.
