Band Of Jays

A family called, Jays plays music in a band;
they travel from Tobacco Road to county
fairs to hock their tunes—music from
harmonicas, oboes and a banjo;
they provide deliverance for
Ma’s and Pa’s, the little tyke
and Granny too.

The Jays bring baskets half-full of
apples, toss them at the rowdies
when the boos begin.  So they
sit, these Jays, in blue overalls
on hay bales, wear ten-gallon
hats and black boots scuffed. 
Their melodies slow, twangy,
a country music feel yea-ha
but kinda on its side like dogs
gone, and cheating spouses,
or rusting pickup trucks on
gravel and grass.

Listen to the Jays,
their harmonies smack
like sass, wails and whoops
and banjo jammy.  Jays’ songs
slice wire, etch glass like nine inch
nails.  One song in their repertoire is
Rigor Mortis River; Junior Jay sways
like a pigeon, and Momma Jay oboe-
plays like she is full of Fresno peppers. 
Grandpa Jay is decrepit exclamation;
mouth organ assaults ears that dare
to be near, like hatchets hewing
thin saplings.


32 Lines
Writer’s Cramp Winner
9-27-17