Box-Car Blues Poem by Kewayne Wadley

That blues,
Oh That lukewarm blues.
Warming the soul as that of a shot of bourbon.
Whisking around the glass.
Moving the grain of each thought.
Strong scented. Stinging the senses.
As it's deeply inhaled.
A brief personal experience shared, easily relatable.
Free from the restriction of color.
A southern bebop. Jiving.
Vibrant in it's bridge
A deep raspy vibration of vocal cords.
Strung along the iron tracks of the railroad.
Humming along the midnight train, Whistling through the night.
Moving those aged fingers across the strings of that old
guitar. Distorted.
Ignoring the commotion of the train riding the track.
Boogie-wooging.
Volume cut as high as it can go.
A string band of stars gleaming through the night.
Amplified.
Rambling with the racket made from the box cars.
Passing the muddy water under the bridge.
A slow blues song lukewarm and wet.
All sung under the stars.
That box car blues.
Rambling on