This old man he played trumpet, 
all the realms of jazz he encompassed.
This old man didn't waste his time 
Listening to hip-hop or watching Soul Train,
Instead he spent his early morning 
Listening to Miles Davis and John Coltrane.

On Sunday's, after giving the Lord his praise,
through old recordings of the precursors he would graze.
The tunes of Jelly Roll Morton, King Oliver and Duke Ellington
Would bring upon reminiscent memories so fond to this old man
Days when Chicago's south side was the only to stand,
as the capital of the brass band and Syncopated Symphony.
Where amateurs and pro alike would come to get down.
Where the classy ladies were good and plenty.

This old man when he died, 
was believed to be dancing in his grave.
To the somber accent the trumpet boy played.

Note: Included in his debut book of poems and short stories
entitled Soul Rebuttals