The Jazz Baby

The Jazz Baby

by Russ Colchamiro

Jazz music oozed from the stereo over a cool-cat daddy-o groove and the cool cat licked his outstretched paw with a hey-baby lay-it-on-me swagger that buzzed the jazz that only cool cats and jazz babies know.

The breath of dim blue light and the flickering wink of a half-burned candle illuminated the room with old shadows and long forgotten dreams.

This wasn’t the song he was supposed to sing. He had the rhythm, he saw the scheme, but the sax blew underneath and far away and he was right here.

He was right now.

Spark a little reefer, burn some incense and let the sweet smelling, soul searching puffs of de-light carry me away to my love-baby, my she-lady, my doll.

Close your eyes, hold that grove and spin my heart down the easy stream of pleasant dreams and warm lovin.

Oh, hey, baby. Don’t go. You just got here. Hear my tune, it’s a joyous rap, but no clap-trap, no riff-raff. Just the real deal, a soul-daddy gift to his number one love.

Yeah. That’s right. Let it go, breath it in. Feel the soothin in your lungs and buzzin lovin in my veins. Kiss me soft, my love angel.

No, no, no, girl, you got that jazz all wrong. It ain’t like that no more. I’m changed. This is the resurrection, the new reflection. The down-and-under, rollin-thunder love. This ain’t no cold breeze blowin your way. This is your sun-shine lover.

We got all night, baby.

Just you and me.

But hold that, pussy cat! Don’t turn away. That’s not your line. You’ve lost the beat, you’re missin my rhyme. Don’t gleam that dream. Don’t mute that tune. Don’t you get the groove?

Ain’t you cool on me? Ain’t we like that no more?

Won’t you sip my wine?

Thick, sultry sounds sank deep and wide as the blue light lost itself in the night glaze. This was the song she knew he’d sing. She heard the verse, she’d felt the sting, but that was long ago and far away and she was right here, she was right now.

The time for jazz magic had run out. The night was moving on.

I can’t see you now, baby. You’re fadin out, you’re drifting away. I feel the hum of your sweet love cruisin out that door. It’s the last glide, the end of the ride, the final good night.

Burn bright, baby, burn bright.

The saxophone whispered in wise tones and distant memories of a love long gone and the sad song that goes with it. The jazz baby sank into a long, lonely drift of a played out tune that couldn’t hold the groove anymore.

And the cool cat curled in a swirl of hand-sewn afghan with the night jazz and life’s echo melting slowly on his whiskers.




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