Darkness Fades to Hope
mp3
minus out the media screen to read along
They drive me far across town
through all-important interchanges and tunnels,
up and down ramps talking the big talk,
“you'll be fine, oh, and one bit of advice...
if the union guys try to bust you,
don't worry, I'll take care of it.”
Saxophoning without a license. Serious.
The ripple of dirty light bulbs and humming neon
crowds the overhead sign into my upturned eyes
as bystanders leer at me from the shadows,
checking out the new boy, a crew-cut musician
braving a bronze, Beattle’s outfit, freshly creased,
and pointed toe boots, not made for walking.
A pub-like entrance up-close with bouncers
gives way to a stench and staleness
teeming with night-lords and their ladies,
their smoky coronas back lit by an incandescent
stage.
A man with a withered, blue-white eye
escorts me backstage, offers me a soft drink.
I think he'll be my only friend, here,
as he slams down a bottle like a thunder bolt.
"Grape, that's all I got", he shouts, grinning.
On stage a red carpet hushes my feet
like an altar boy shown with whispers and
gestures.
A pop-rock tune machine-guns into the room
as dancers flock to the dance floor all arms, legs
and teeth.
My solo cries out with an R & B scat,
a high hallelujah raking the metal catwalks and
grips,
resonating panels and floor boards,
rousing a cheer from the whole house clear to the
roof.
There are newsmen and camera lights blocking the door.
"He's coming,"
they yell, "keep playing."
What?
"He's coming,"
they yell, "keep playing."
Who's coming?
"Billy Graham, keep playing."
It took him a month to walk up the aisle
greeting, shaking hands with the multitude.
A week went by as he strolled onto the dance floor
and onto the stage grabbing my hand, my microphone
and all the applause, the flash-bulbs popping.
"Let
us bow our heads and pray," he commanded.
And so we did.
* * *
In the dark front-window for years to come,
my front-page picture, caught mid-crusade with
Billy Graham,
stood next to a color-cardboard cut-out of Chubby Checker.
My sad, little shrine in black and white was smaller than life
and Chubby's color seemed to fade.
part
II - Monster Beneath Mass Graves
