Boomer's,
The Vanguard,
The Five Spot
die dark
like a last growing spark.
New York City's
death rattle is jazz.
My heart tears
like crepe paper streamers
listening to musicians
once this country's dreamers
becoming disbelievers
in their talent
'cause their country
has disowned them.
Sun rises on the clubs
lying littered and lonely.
Jazz filters out
with the sad men
only to return
like the tide every night.
America.
America!
Your music's not White.
Vi Ransel
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/st-valentine-s-day-massacre-for-jazz-1976/
