Harry & Bella-Fonte Poem by Nat Z. Punx

i'm in this bar
think it's haunted
anyway
watching this slick band
basically e-street type
every one a master
this dreadlock kid in a white suit
up jamming like hendrix
then laying down motown chords
so sweet the southern comfort seemed bitter
bomber jacketed sax player
blowing like the master of the universe
had his watchful eye on the voilet notes
when this couple walks in
they distract me
harry belefonte &
dianna ross '64
only clean and pretty
i get the feeling that
they fell out of Jet magazine 1974
not so much their style
as their demenor
as they walk in
come on the dance floor
prepschool stride slides up
and the guitar player
he's seen her at the door too
the whole room is eyein' them
and their impressive presence
as i think they are going to break out and dance
harry leads her up the stage steps
and she floats up to guitar boy
just as she's about to whisper a request
she starts belting out this honey
i finally saw
someone
steal the show

harry come up to the table
and he's smiling
and talking
im throwin the praise on heavy
it's no act
impromptu
she comes in and takes over
wherever she goes
and it goes on for hours

southern angel guides me across the square
past the cathedral
down lovecraft streets
no angles right
muddled perspectives
garish washed out facades
cars stacked freewheelin' style
the angel smiling on me
when i come to this refugee
in a fautige jacket
standing in the entrance
of some boarded up theater
blowing foghorn into the darkness
why dont you go up the block i ask
dropp your hat on the curb
make a little dough
they don't like my music up there
he says
besides, the ghosts are better here
no feeling like the kindest ghosts
smiling on you
in the gritty hot night

the best never drown or blow away
i plan to visit atlanis next