Jazz Artist by Aaron Sinkovitch

Like any ordinary cup of coffee, our Joe Weldon

could easily be looked over for something more robust,

but there’s a world teaming inside him, a fresh, rich pot

brewed with jazz and full of folks always giving him the slip -

musicians, saxophones blowing notes and singers singing songs,

a rhythm running through his figures like his fingers over a


Almost anything can serve as Joe’s canvas-

napkins, crumpled newspaper, salvaged windows and ceiling tiles,

Something with texture, an up and down, a rhythm or chord


laying down a beat like the rat-tat-tat of a snare, the ting-tinging

of a cymbal

until you feel it under your feet, the people moving with Geppetto’s


at block parties, city bars, along hot street lined with tall buildings

-drinking in the life with secret arrangements to run away before


Instead of three musicians he painted four for me-

I swear it’s The Bird, Benny, Miles and Ella

that slipped away this time - Could you really blame them?

refusing to lay down their instruments,

racing away to another gig, another stage, that can never be pinned


And don’t bother these folks with professional framing -

exact measurements, perfect right angles, smooth polished


that’s too square, like playing the notes straight time;

much better to improvise, to use what’s at hand, let the beats


so the song can never be played the same way twice -

that’s Joe’s time signature, Joe’s art, Joe’s jazz.