Musicale

Alone with my memories, I watch
and listen to Harry Connick, Jr.,
in concert, on public television,
rendering 40’s and 50’s tunes—my
nostalgia—along with his own songs.

Shades of Sinatra, Bennett, Dino,
wander through my consciousness.
Did those old guys perform with
five o’clock shadow gracing their faces?
Harry’s curly hair softens his face.

He wears a suit and tie, no holy
jeans, twists no contortions

While I hear those old tunes
the lump in my throat stays.

His finale—a New Orleans
jazz jam, lightens my heart.

                                            -Barbara Hamby, Portland, Oregon