Marc Swan • Millennium All-Star Review

Standing behind a seawall, a place
where breakers beat a four-four
against the shore, alone, getting
used to the solitary life
when he comes jogging down
the strand in one of those Izod outfits,
Michael Jordan "puff and run" shoes,
slicked back salt and pepper hair,
thick-lensed rimless glasses perched
on that familiar snozola.

Smiling, hopeful it seems,
the old licorice stick swinging
in a North Face pack off his rounded
shoulders. He doesn't look a day
over sixty. Later, in the Café du Chien
drinking iced coffee with three sugars,
lots of milk, he talks of the comeback -
the one he's had in his celestial dreams
for God knows how long. This time
the blues draw him, peppered
with hip hop and a little rock and roll
to open up the market. He can see it,
hear it in his head - Will Smith,
Jay-Z rapping, then a long blues riff
from the Queen - Latifah
that is, coming in high, breaking low
behind him; his right foot tap tap
tappin'. Tom Waits' harp blows
cool, lights glow dim, Krupa hits
his chops behind Jay-Z rappin' down
"De-evils," then solo in a bright blue
spot, Benny G bringing it all home.