Summer Horn

Something deep had shaken the crowd, and the old man and the man with the horn had done it.

—Ralph Ellison

hotter than hellin the park this afternoon,and the bright metal throws back

a scorching glare—best not look, just listenas the player fumbles for the key

then pursuesthe singer’s voice skyward,the two like hungry falcons

vying for preyabove a starving land,their chase recalling lays

of an agewhen heroes met their fate with dignity:none can deny that it is a good sound

if unlikely,or good because unlikely,this full-throated singing born of breath

and valve,the gleaming bell nowspilling out a counter-melody,

for counter-melodyhas ever been its privilege in a march—though this, at last, is no march but

pure blues:annunciation of the fine and mellow,memory of many thousands gone