Nathan Elias

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(The following poem was first published by those fine people at Red Fez.)

Glass City Blues

The night begins on the river bottom

slow dragging with the ghost of Lily Mae Jones.

She lights a cigarette and calls for the sax

to play a tune that will bury the dead.

Its happy hour and the bitches brew

is on tap. Two rounds before we’re on stage

singing, But for me there can be no dawn

I thought I was in paradise.

Moonlight guides our feet as we

move to the sound of piano keys on fire,

the black cat trumpet, the ambulance

crescendo of Glass City blues.

We break the surface of air

like hard-boiled eggs then choke it down

with rose water. I am between the teeth

of stray dogs in a street fight and 

if this is another dream

I’ll count bullets and graves before I  

call her Betty in the pouring rain. It ain’t

what her mama named her.