Baptized by vodka cleansing my throat
Baptized by sweat dripping from Tony Williams’ sticks
Thick Summer Sunday Afternoons
at the Vanguard
Miles ready
Horn like a flyswatter, ready to strike down
this whippersnapper of a man/child
Testing
the beast in a muted horn
Tony drawing Miles in and driving Miles’ sounds
Out there
Out there
Miles knew
asking this upstart of the sticks to his schoolyard
Miles’ game and
Tony took over
like those street players on those raggedy assed
west 4th Street courts and
Avenue of Whose America
Lives played out on asphalt
Woosh of ball going cleanly through mesh net
My hands – gripping the fence
Looking in at perfect pick-up games
Blue/black and tans who were fucked over by the man
Come on! Come on!
Dart, pass, dribble, shake and shoot
Beat up sneakers squeakin’
Smokin’ up the pavement
Basketball Is Jazz
Tony workin’ his backboard
Hitting that hi hat
Rat-a-tat
Rat-a-tat
Splat Splat
Honing his ax in Miles’ woodshed and
Miles answered
Miles answered
Smiled that funny smile that looked evil
Hunched over, shook spit out of his horn
walked off the stage and
left him to solo
Nets and hoops shimmied under naked sun
Sckutcha Kuh
Sckutcha Kuh
Sckutcha Kuh
K chuh
K chuh
K chuh
So What!