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Worn Blues Refrain My father danced on Saturdaymornings, turned his fat professor's legs the wrong way. No rhythm self, tripping over Mama's corns, his jitterbuglike a worn blues refrain. Then the afternoons,he sat himself down to the piano, knee pants memories of Louis and his trumpet come to town. Louis didn't crack a smile. Don't believe? Want todispute //.?Dad didn't think so and commenced with Jelly Roll religion. Those porcelain hours, demons stopped poking my father. From someplace close he found love. He got some rhythm when he played the blues, hollered and touched us allwithout bruising. 12 ...

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