Don’t say goodbye to the pork-pie hat that rolled along padded shoulders,
that swang be-bop phrases
in Minton’s jelly-roll dreams.
don’t say goodbye to hip hats tilted in the style of a soulful era,
the pork-pie hat that Lester dug,
swirling in the sound of sun saxes,
repeating phrase o phrase, repeating bluely
as hit-hat cymbals crash and trumpets scream while
musicians move in and out of this gloom, the pork-pie hat reigns supreme,
the elegance of style
gleaned from the city’s underbelly.
of salt-peanuts and hot house birds. The pork-pie hat
And who was the musician who
blew Bird away by accident, then died, obscure,
an obscene riff repeating lynch scenes?
repeating weird changes. The chorus repeated itself also, the horns slide from note to note in blue, in blue streaks of mad wisdom;
the pork-pie hat and the drum-dancing hips defying sanctity of white America…