Solo carpool around Vancouver.   Lockdown, spring 2020.

Groove

Vinyl pirouettes, a needle touchdown

groove, groove, groove

road grabs you in a bear-hug

highway getaway, asphalt bitumen

grooves, grooves, grooves

and from the trunk the funky funk

of mr t, thelonious monk

marsalis boys play left and right

in case it wasn’t clear, I’d speakers installed

in the rear, of a silver chrome thunderbird

my word! the sound is crystal clear

treble, woofer, double bass vibrates

up, out, and through corinthian patent leather

headlights splay across a country roadway

single lane both ways in groovy groovin’ grooves

to the smooth, smooth sound of billie holiday

buddy rich and buddy guy (every buddy, every guy)

lady ella too, three, four, as oscar takes the rougey

baton-lead on tickled ivories black and pearly white

skip hip-hop, span the jazz and blues

and rock n’ roll in infancy

across the delta blue through new orleans

and kansas city on to chi-town up to harlem

leap that pond, a mariana trench

one mighty groove, groove, groove

to move the ocean, music, rhythm, our

giant orb of oxygen and hydrogen

this oily ball that move, move, moves

to hot pressed tunes on fossil fuel 45s

and full length 33s, like seaside clifftops

baja, mazatlan, needle-dives toward an ocean groove

and all we need to do to feel that heat of ocean beat so

cool, cool, cool, be in that deep blue sea glissando rondo

heartbeat music, everybody plays this single

shoreline shingle, swooning tunes we scrunch along

in dancing shoes to upbeat a cappella company

in perfect, perfect harmony, that’s what we see

a seaside bridging chorus, chorusing our

groove, groove, groove …

 

Stereo story #521