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Lamentation in Minor Blues

I intended to be up there – way up there –
Vermont, perhaps,
playing jazz
into the blue
predawn hours
sipping something strong.

I intended to be up there,
wrapped in meditative comfort
surrounded by walls of circles
possessing hot magic
in vinyl grooves and laser disc pockets.

I intended to be up there,
the metronome wooden clock
marked the rhythmic electric flow
and ancient pines caked with snow
welcomed another midnight dusting
of slow acoustic grace.

I intended to be up there,
watching from the window
speaking only when necessary
in low, liquid tones
to no one, or everybody,
all of them unseen
from my den.

I intended to be up there,
but know the velvet night
never lasts
and the sharp light changes me
agitates, enervates, misappropriates
pulls me out as I give in.

I intended to be up there,
but never went.

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by Douglas Malan

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Douglas S. Malan is a writer with roots in the sprawling Illinois countryside and mellow Tennessee outskirts, currently living in southern New England. Find him at www.douglasmalan.com

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