ike turner
is on the box
teaching me
about the roots
of the blues.
he talks
about tacks
in his shoes
& how broken-hearted he is
because
his baby is gone.
when I write poems
on a typewriter
& listen
to ike
on the
turntable
it’s like
it’s yesterday again.
sometimes
it’s right to do things
the old way.
sometimes it’s
the only thing
that makes
any sense at all.
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