IT’S a jazz affair, drum crashes and cornet razzes
The trombone pony neighs and the tuba jackass snorts.
The banjo tickles and titters too awful.
The chippies talk about the funnies in the papers.
The cartoonists weep in their beer.
Ship riveters talk with their feet
To the feet of floozies under the tables.
A quartet of white hopes mourn with interspersed snickers:
“I got the blues.
I got the blues.
I got the blues.”
And … as we said earlier:
The cartoonists weep in their beer.

Analysis, meaning and summary of the poem by

3 Comments

  1. pudding says:

    i knead some nanlytics on the poem that is once made by beras whom in the house of bricks eat porridge.

  2. Bill Howell says:

    He was a crusty old man who saw for us crisp pictures translating them to words that we might see them through his eyes

  3. Gary Keefner says:

    Floozies and beer…yep, that’s Cleveland.

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