POEM: sycamore

I took a crazy series of trains and buses from Manhattan to Brooklyn tonight to see a solo set by bassist John Hébert at Sycamore, a tiny basement music spot at 1118 Cortelyou Road. As it turned out, there was also a solo set by drummer Billy Mintz. I wrote this piece during Hébert’s set.

From John Hébert & Billy Mintz at Sycamore

sycamore

I am not Bob Dylan
you are not Bob Dylan’s girlfriend

here in this Brooklyn basement
we are all making eye contact
over the bulging body of the bass
filling this quaint cave with mumbled rhetoric

as if on cue all the women
on the bench close their eyes
right legs crossing left legs
as a single bead of sweat
drops from the bassist’s nose
to the threadbare rug

you know who you are
all the men have sensitive beards
you know who you are

I planted a sycamore in the backyard
so we could sit beneath it and remember

I planted a willow in the front yard
so we could sit beneath it and regret