HIS RETURN

sitting in the Cellar jazz club smoking
pouring whiskey over lost words
four poets stare at their failures
realizing hell is what they create
waiting for his return

the last time we saw him
his long fingers lingered on the ivory
with sizzling chord progressions
knowing heaven was his creation
not some faded decaying rapture

rising from beneath the stage
with drums full of suspense
the cool jazz started to sizzle and bop
Fats Waller returned to celebrate
May 21, his birthday

the four poets watched from their whiskey conference
drunk enough to find their lost words
and create more hell
not to be be judged
celebrating his return