Him Horn Rethinks Him for Sonny Rollins

Sonny got

Rollins got   

Sonny got soul

Rollins got 

East Broadway potholes and cab drivers 

drunk jetting through Holland tunnel 

a tear in them eyes. 

Two, Four, Six, 

Sonny got 

Rollins got jagged puddles of tar and oil and parkway traffic. 

Sonny got horns, Rollins got afternoons 

in Central Park playing sun beats, and bees buzz 

as fountain’s splash got Sonny, got stingers.

Rollins got licking flowers for honey lips 

and singing fingers trilling, screaming, 

and stealing Brooklyn solos 

got Rollins got Sonny 

hot brass sold so much Sonny  

so much Solomon. 

Sonny got wisdom, 

know his sax from an asshole.

Say it proud. 

Rollins got know how 

and cold river surging under bridge, 

can’t tell what time it is so jump and blow 

until grong sarong grong booogrong, 

and the fifth grong got Rollins bringing home rivers 

and traffic and soot and tears, turning our world on its axis 

like a social studies globe.

Sonny got the cost of living equated out loud, 

got open to improvement, 

showing neck pulses to strangers like seedy pole dancers.  

Sonny got metronome glances 

and so clean teeth and fingers 

got Rollins.

Rollins rolling rhythm joints, toking green bleats 

and slow Sunday beats, tapping wing tips 

and squeezed out creech, pumping the streets 

with walker hips in satin slips. 

Sonny goes down the alley of life’s lessons 

mugging ears and whistling:  

Sonny got soul  

Man still moaning  

Sonny got soul  

Melody marching 

Sonny got soul 

Slow lung pushing

Sonny changing

Sonny rolls Rollins to suffer the screams 

to slow smoke the gloom 

to people the cold street  

Sonny got

Sonny got

Sonny Rollins got soul.