On the highway, driven by BB King and John Lee Hooker,
the blues are on new wheels with the same soul inside.
I feel like a prophet with smoke in his eyes,
seeing the truth but it burns around the edges.
I won’t quit this jam while I have these black gods
watching over me from the radio.
When I get shook to the ground,
I remember the Blues Café
in Smyrna where I read John Agard poems by myself
and I realize that I am best at being a solemn soul.
I didn’t know then that I was gonna get so much better.
The blues were in only in my baby’s eyes,
that woman who became my wife,
made the world hum and my Nina Simone every afternoon.
I would pay the rent forever to keep her happy.
I am content as a poet can get.