Wrath of Llomas

Birdland mindframe, feeling like it's circa 1962;
The way she moved through the room
whistling a gloomy tune:
The same repetition of that sad riff,
I approached half-passive
asked if,
"it was a blue-note classic?"
and she smiled, batted her lashes,
"close, but no, it's something i wrote,
called 'the wrath of Llomas'"
... a song for her pops she explained,
"he used to be a jazz saxophonist.
Coked and doped at the height of his solstice,
so much so you smell the stench of crack on his magnum opus."
Her fingertips slid over a bottle of corona,
and she sunk back in a sofa.

(refrain)

She said, "momma always knew
whenever the rent was due,
she would find him in his room
being in a tense mood,
leaning over a bent spoon
heaping with hell's sugar-
musical notes he wrote.
Scribbled on walls,
half-empty bottles of alcohol
in the hall.
She found over womens' #s, bras and droors."
(pause)
"...then came the summer of loss.
His pop's died and his brother too.
Llomas moved from tune to tune,
different spots, performing until
he met one the baddest drummers up north.
In a matter of weeks they formed a quintet"
she said with a slight pride,
her eyes wide as her smile.
"My father had a purpose now,
his vices were gone...
I can still hear the slices of life
in those very psalms... calm.
Just a man confessin' through the sax."

(refrain)

So i was talking to her for a while,
you know, in this place, the birdland place.
And she kept goin on about it,
it was sad man, it was really sad.
she said, "Just a man confessin' through the sax,
but then, then came the war-time draft, to me"
she said "that was the end of his jazz,
I'm talking about what he saw out there in Vietnam.
It left Llomas' heart weathered, worn, and torn.
He came home to lynchings on
mournful fields of corn.
I guess through me his passed was reborn,
he passed on.
And all I did was pawn his sax, his wax, and brass horn.
And it leaves me shaken and sad."
And then I shook her hand and said,
"I was glad to me you. I hope you have a good day."