Roger Singer

One step, two,

the march of funeral feet

slaps leather to pavement

and jazz for the dead.

….blow mighty the horn of Gabriel.

Tambourines snap under white

parasols and spotless suits;

angels watch in jealous pain.

…the band lifts spirits beyond the grave.

Black hands and red fingernails

hold fever tight handkerchiefs,

waving parade air

to living and dead.

….songs never leave spirit ears.