Cooling Board: A Long Playing Poem

S.R.O.: Mr. Henry’s, Capitol Hill

56 • S.r.O.: Mr. HENry’S, CAPiTOL HiLL Got a space for me upstairs: pews & an upright just like daddy’s church with a little more shouting, a lot less religion. I can save Donny a seat in the front where the suits & ties come in off the Hill, rest their bones in a bourbon soak. The second show is always more crowded, like word got around the girl upstairs is teasing demons out the piano. Standing in the center makes you dizzy, the way the waitress takes orders, turns sharp, the glasses—sweating halos—lined up like sinners for sermon. 57 • I steady myself at the keys, hear the creak of the bench, call on a song carved in the road of my palm. ...