Scrambled eggs and whiskey <br />in the false-dawn light. Chicago, <br />a sweet town, bleak, God knows, <br />but sweet. Sometimes. And <br />weren't we fine tonight? <br />When Hank set up that limping <br />treble roll behind me <br />my horn just growled and I <br />thought my heart would burst. <br />And Brad M. pressing with the <br />soft stick and Joe-Anne <br />singing low. Here we are now <br />in the White Tower, leaning <br />on one another, too tired <br />to go home. But don't say a word, <br />don't tell a soul, they wouldn't <br />understand, they couldn't, never <br />in a million years, how fine, <br />how magnificent we were <br />in that old club tonight.<br /><br />Hayden Carruth<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/scrambled-eggs-and-whiskey/
