We’ve made it half way through NaPoWriMo 2014!

Those following Mapping the Edge (MTE) since December 2013 are aware of my Uncanny Valley series. Inspiration for today’s post comes from an unpublished part of that New Orleans weekend.

My story about Papa Cool didn’t make the cut. Just between us, the MTE editor is an idiot. Don’t worry. He never reads this blog.

As soon as I hit “publish,” I’m taking our clean-energy monorail to headquarters and file a formal complaint. When I reach that plexiglass-enclosed nerve center overlooking the unmapped edge (still under construction), I may enter that glowing pulsing orb buzzing with activity and a 60-hertz electrical hum without even knocking.

If I threaten to start my own blog called, Edging the Map, will any of you follow?

Will the promise of free podcasts help?

I know. Tough decision. Think about where your loyalty lies.

Now on with the show…

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He’s Papa Cool

Young band left unplugged played one night stand too long

Dividing emptiness in the money hat

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Against leaving flow old man took stage to silence

Scarred electric axe carried like a guitar

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Old man sang into dead microphone

Until somebody did something

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Bartender tended barred sounds from a board

Levers slid twisted knobs punch sound belched from amp and lungs

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Now gimme some reverb old man yelled to bartender shrugs

Reverberation is sound-persistence after the originating sound is played

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So it’s echo? No it’s not it’s sound refusing to leave this bar

Find the knob that says so and crank it

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Man never heard of reverb old man over-helped

Never heard of Hendrix Stevie Ray Chuck Berry either

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Bartender stared at soundboard’s complexing perplexity

Like he forgot how to tie untied shoes

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If no knob says reverb then just gimme a little bit

One half of the two-person audience leaned in leaving

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To the other half said too bad you don’t have rotten fruit to throw

Finally reverb made abundant appearance and old man played

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Man he played to an audience of me

Two songs strung people up on sidewalk glass-staring inside souls

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Another one place-packed the joint

Money buckets passed tipping over

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I asked waitress who was the old man she left

Walked onstage mid-song asking

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Who am I the speaker next to my ears said I’m Papa Cool

Turned toward microphone and me reverbed he’s Papa Cool

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I gave both thumbs up with applause

For this diamond in the rough of New Orleans

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Left adding a drop in a bucket not big enough

Because he’s Papa Cool

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