Poem

THINGS AIN'T WHAT THEY USED TO BE

You swung harder than a twenty pound sledge
swifter than a bellydancer's hips
Swung steady as Pops on the porch at night
or the well-oiled hinge of his garden gate
Swung easy as a child from a knotty limb
or a bridge of rope in a raucous breeze
Swung in like the tide at six AM
out like saloon doors past last call.
Have mercy Mr. Ellington,
only you could swing an orchestra
like a hypnotist’s pocketwatch.
Where are those humid Harlem nights
you swung hard as a hammock in a hurricane
with nary a hair out of place?