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Image by Janet Herman from Pixabay

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The Rumproller  .

There is a great banging coming from inside the brewery
while out here in the sun my blood knocks at the blue
ceilings of my veins like an irate tenant in the apartment
one floor down unprepared for that first blast of Lee
Morgan’s trumpet as The Rumproller kicks off its assault
on the funk deprived asses of Butler Street. The outdoor
benches are bare of shade and the spring-shocked trees
of Allegheny Cemetery, absent their green regalia
stand there in a stupor. Goddamn, it’s really gonna happen!
The winter has donned its shabby hat and shown itself
the door. They arrive like Romero’s hungry children,
the sun and this last day of March crawling around
their faces, ready for renewal, eager for sex and the gauzy
delinquent decisions of warm days and warmer more
spectacular nights. A nod is all we need to say we survived.
The world didn’t end and that was not a guarantee.
Touch my hand, put your hand to my cheek. I’m so happy
to see you again. The sun is shaking its beautiful fat ass
all across the sky. Etiquette demands we do the same.

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___

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Kristofer Collins is the books editor for Pittsburgh Magazine. He is the author of several poetry collections, most recently. Salsa Night at Hilo Town Tavern.published by Hyacinth Girl Press. He lives in Pittsburgh, PA with his wife and son. 

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Listen to Lee Morgan play “The Rumproller,” a 1965 recording featuring Joe Henderson, Ronnie Mathews, Victor Sproles and Billy Higgins

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