MY BOY PLAYS THE BLUES

MY BOY PLAYS THE BLUES

(Perfomance poetry)


My boy plays the blues,
Shucks--if guitars were feet he wouldn't need no shoes.
You can close your eyes and hear Albert King.
Got a broke heart, he can fix that thing.
Listen real close, it's like Ronnie Earl.
I ain't joking he can heal ya girl!
He can make it scream like the one and only Ice Man,
Or play it real smooth like old Slow Hand.

You ask me, has he paid his dues?
Well, I got more stories than you can use.
I was with him on Chicago's Southside,
The boy partied so hard had to sleep outside.
Yeah, there've been many a gunslinger tried to cut his head.
And I remember the night that Mr. Phil Guy did.

My boy plays the blues,
Shucks--if guitars were feet he wouldn't need no shoes.
Some players get tired but he's like Robert Cray,
Bump and grind the livelong day.
He'll go down the road with you like Elmore James.
Listen here girl, he'll make you shake that thing.

He'll tell you right up front, there's only one B. B. King,
Then plug in his strat and touch his strings.
You'll get the feeling Muddy Waters is still alive.
And I took him myself to Stevie Ray's graveside.
He's had his guitar stolen, been thrown in jail,
And knows what it means to have a hell hound on his trail.

Yes Sir, from "Over the Rhine" to "Beale Street"
You can find my boy where blues men meet.
My boy plays the blues,
Shucks--if guitars were feet he wouldn't need no shoes.