Poet's Pub

Sure Kid

by Chad Armbruster

The funk of the jam throbs through

after the lights go out.

The applause has died,

like Coltrane, but without the track marks.

Notes hang in the air

with the thick smoke of Cubans

and Lucky Strikes.

Mic packed, the room empty.

Walking through the door Maceo stands on stage

to pick up the pieces.

Case in hand

a kid

lingers in the ally.

"Hey Mr.? Sign my case?"

"Sure kid."

"I'm gonna be like you some day.

Don't want no real job.

Just to make love on stage all night."

"Sure kid."

"Gonna put Miles in his place, man.

Gonna make the old new

and new sound old.

Gonna keep it to myself

and make'em all work to get it.

Gonna go the same road as all ya'll done.

Gonna do it right this time."

"Sure kid."

"Wanna make the notes

flow from feelings

of fast fingers."

"Sure kid."

"You know what is hip?

It's the tower of power in ya.

It's where the soul sits and waits

to be called on when your in the light.

See, Buddy ain't as rich anymore.

Can't even be on time.

He went and sold his clean shirt

so he could swing his ass off.

Gonna fly to the moon

and give old Nat a pat on his back.

And the Chairman of the Board's

gonna want his cut of the house take.

But I'll have the Candy Man on my side."

"Sure kid."

"Kenton, Catingub, Connick

they still ain't got it.

Not like I do.

They got the money I got the grace.

Got the gift.

You know it?

It's what I can do.

So I do

and the others--

they can't

so they just teach."

"Sure kid."

"So, you think I'm gonna make it?"

"Sure kid."