The Minnow Bucket Inn

(also written in the Northwoods while a guest artist at Vacationaire)

The piano soul
Renting a room within
Plays and sings the blues tonight
At the Minnow Bucket Inn.

So hip and cool
Soul changes key
And travels its own modality
Oft times to lick and lap the shore
Of an Island Lake that begs for more.

The left hand plays a pedal deep
Its goal to keep a toe hold in
The sand of this frozen,
No thawed, melodic land.

The right hand high
No lullaby
But licky, sticky stuff
It seeks a Blue Moon
Plum big enough to anchor up a dream,
To keep it up
To lay it down
This piano's soul
It keeps-til it dreams
Tomorrows scheme.

The shades of night abate.
Yawning, the owner, yanks the awning
A cleaning of the slate.
The Bucket fills with sunshine's gold
All of last night's minnows are hard and cold.

The stirring now awakes. . .
Colombian coffee, Danish rolls,
And a pan of Swedish cakes.
An international cast that
Sparks remarks of
"Last night's brutal carnage".

A drink or twenty three?
Long Island tea?
He passed out cold?
Is this getting old?

The piano soul fueled by this
Spinning barroom yarnage
Turns his head
Surveys the scape across the lake
So near, yet far, from this Swedish pancake.

Fish are washing up on shore
Floating, bloating.
Little thinking, mucho stinking.

The piano soul must
Find some seeds
In that distant, staring,
Now brassy, blaring
Regiment of reeds
Marching and singing
Their song within. . .
Tonight to rent the place again
Blue and green
And play the scene
 At the Minnow Bucket Inn.