The Book of Songs: BOOK I

Song 2
The Virtuoso
A song of healing.

MY FATHER was a percussionist
a virtuoso, if you will
blessed with
rhythm and soul
and blues and jazz
and oh, could he
play
play play
play play
that drum

when happy or sad
lonely or mad

he beat and beat and beat that drum

intoxicated with shot glasses
of despair and pain
disillusioned before mirrors cracked
by the cruelty and deceit
of the Black man’s world

he struck the cymbals
and pounded the tom-tom
with sticks or belts
his fist and palms
whatever he chose

he beat and beat and beat that drum
sending timbres piercing
and screeching in
pitches so high
they say only dogs
could hear

or low deep droning
moans and groans
some thought came
from the bowels
of the earth.

beating and pounding and striking
and
beating
beating and pounding and striking
and
beating

boom-boom
boom tissssh!

boom-boom
boom tissssh!!

boom-boom
boom tissssh!!!

sometimes I wish
Daddy hadn’t played me

so well.