He's got pockets full of bop and a glint in his eye
He's a little bit wicked, a whole lot sly
His voice is half asleep all raspy and deep
And his song is dark molasses with a sweet tabasco sigh
He stands there in the light with his knees all loose and groovy
His pants draping down over long, long legs
He's trying to look casual as he meets her eye
But his eyebrow tells her otherwise.

She trails a cloud of music around her like perfume
And his rhythms sniff her out when she walks into the room
She gets caught in a honey web of perfect jive
A buzzing humming shimmy pulls her out to the floor
Where a sax riff snakes up her long, long spine
And the slide guitar's bent blue note whine
Slows down her time
She's all sweat and exaltation, exuberant and sweet
When the conga's spiced staccato takes her
Where heat and boogie meet.

They're complete and total strangers who chance to meet
On a pilgrimage to find a tight back beat
They're on a lifelong search for that perfect groove
He lives to play it and she lives to move
It's a spicy stew they're cooking up there
Full of voodoo prance and shiver and midnight air
And they just have to shout when its gets too hot to bear.

© 1994 Barbara McAfee
Please contact Barbara for permission to use poem -
(612) 840-9255