Savannah Moss

A Poem by [untitled]

I am reading "Christmas When Music Almost Killed the World," by Aberjhani, and I recommend it highly to those of you who want to get inside a very different kind of book. This poem was written in his honor.

entering Savannah I stop to stare
rich history here
writers write
poets compose
history's prosperity
for
filthy lucre
and because they cannot do anything else
they sing about the town like she was a two-bit w***e
Hard-Hearted Hannah . . .
you know the rest
to some she is molasses, biscuits and southern belle
so I stopped to stare
if a stranger looks hard enough at a place
concentrates completely on the stare
things others don't see come into view
like a slight hunchback way of looking at things
hunchbacks look at things different than you and me
so, you concentrate
when that level of awareness comes
you are hunchbacked
look around
people are laughing
downtown dandy's and back alley girlies'
laughing their collective asses off
rube
huge oak trees
strange fruit there
silver tears dripping from them
fretting and whining about lost confederate glory
moss hanging like women's tresses
resembles pubic hair in spots
yesteryear
things just ain't the same
Savannah
mysterious city
Old Town Trolley take your coins
tell you all about Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil
bullshit and reality all mish-mashed together
lot of history here
people live on history
can't do without history
history can be good
or bad
what the hell's so grand about s**t in the past
when the present is thrilling
Aberjhani
the new Savannah
has a hero
a poet
laureate, maybe
a poet hero
they respond to this poet
awards, honors, galore
ever sat down and read Aberjhani's stuff
mean really read it
cause the guy lays on you so damn much to mull
read and shake your head
damn
you say
that's some good s**t
Savannah
spawned something good
Johnny Mercer
meet
Aberjhani
ring that bell, that bell
in the tower down at the
Savannah Cotton Exchange
ring it

©June 30, 2006 / Jerry Pat Bolton