Broken Hearted Memorys
And when that music starts
there is no time, she takes you back
over fifteen years, as if yesterday
a song immortalized. Do you know her name
I met her once, with my lover: “You must be Jack!
and saw her twice afterwards, at Storyville and
The Black Hawk. Sunday in the rain, ”He’s funny
that Way", and I went crazy afterwards, woman’s
sorrow her legacy holding hands under the table.
Billie’s grey—hair was Parisian style and her
singing Big Apple. She’s still rotting nectarines.
