Vi Redd at the Clef Club
Strutting past 2 a.m.
and the manager’s
repeated signals to stop, she
breaks into Now’s the Time!
Now’s the Time to Wail!
Crash like broken leaded glass
from percussion
beyond
the generally understood world.
Vi responds with sax
depositing unsafe ideas
into Miss Betty Carter’s change purse.
She leans into frantic Bird chords before
a single long-held note
injects starter fluid
into the crowd’s fireless heart.
