Bird On 52nd Street

Poem By João Tomaz Parreira

The ghost of bebop
from 52nd Street,
left footprints in the snow.

A Cab passed, in the yellowish night,
a drunk volatile
with a goose-step, almost
gave a kick in the stars.

Slid under the door
of the Three Deuces the blues.

The street was a cold mirror
when it rains, now remember
a mantle of ermine
the lap of Lady Day.


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