[lindyhop]

This is something from way back but I offer it to my fellow swanky poets in appreciation of this cool place. I think it fits the vibe of this joint...

Preservation Hall

Tourists on the sidewalk
peer through grimy windows
as jazz beats into the night,
mingles with the stink
of mildew and aging buildings,
then evaporates in the din
of the bar next door.
Inside, the audience sit
on plain wooden benches
or stands in darkness at the back.
The musicians, white shirts damp,
sit knee to knee, and trade solos
like stories they've told all their lives.
Trombone, saxophone, clarinet, piano:
each one takes a turn, wraps the melody
around the room, then passes it on.
I stand, eyes closed, sway to the music.
The saxophone wails "Precious Lord"
all the way to heaven.