I Dig Where You’re At

I never found television’s version of Beatnik jazz.

I listened to Miles, Mingus, and Monk.
Jazz, Bebop, Jive.
The Weather Report improvised otherwise.

Juliette Greco’s black clothes,
Dizzy Gillespie’s beret and beard,
Finger-snapping, hunched-over walk.

Seedy village bars,
Air, smoked-filled.
A handful of musicians improvising.

The upright bass going be-dum-dum-dum.
The brushes stroking the cymbals.
The bongo player tripping on his own beat.

The trope was strong.

“Relax man.
Scat beat poet
Stays out late
Hip daddy bongo man
Beatnik psycho
Wears the glasses
Smokes his pipe
Shirt so stripy
Pants worn tight
Beatnik soldier
His weapons are his bongos
Beret and a goatee
Scat daddy scat daddy
Hip daddy bongo man
Scat beat poet
Hip daddy bongo man
Beatnik daddio
Lurks in bars
Lurks in the shadows
Drinks and smokes
Steals peanuts when there is no one looking
Girls love daddy
They let daddy drive him home
But when gets them home
Plays them bongos
Got wine on the table
Cheese on the plate
Stains on the table-cloth
Play daddy play daddy
Hip daddy bongo man
Scat beat poet
Hip daddy bongo man
Beatnik daddio
Hip daddy bongo man
Scat beat poet
Hip daddy bongo man
Beatnik daddio
Hip daddy bongo man
Scat beat poet
Hip daddy bongo man
Beatnik daddio
Hip daddy bongo man
Hip daddy bongo man
Scat scat scat
Beat beat beat” — Inchkii, “Hip Daddy Bongo Man” (2011)

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