Payments

He cradled Lucille, like a child

or a lover, like he needed no other

to breathe. Words slipped

down his lips over satin lapels.

Made me slap my knees,

made me cry baby please,

baby please don’t go. He drew

so deep on that downbeat,

it tugged every womb in the room.

Men shouted. Women screamed

when he bent that string,

really shook that dogleg

‘til it begged. And we trembled

at the truth of his lament—

undeniably, recognizably kin.

Oh, the thrill—the anguish

of joy pulled from pain,

when B.B. King sang the blues.