Inspired by desperation
and a certain nausea brought on
by spectacles of hate encased
in blistered, feverish stupidity,
they started injecting
Duke Ellington's chords
directly into people's brains.
It couldn't hurt, they figured.
They brought on board
booster-shots of Bill Monroe,
Aretha, Coltrane, Rubenstein's
Chopin, and vials of other juice.
Hi-dee-high-dee hoping these
inoculations and antidotes
might re-humanize folks,
the worried inculcators
waited, seeking early signs
of logic, empathy, and wit.
I? I await reports. A bottle
of bourbon, which I haven't
touched in centuries, sits
on the battered piano,
which I have touched, pawing
ballads and blues like a badger.
hans ostrom 2015
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