Jazz Bach on an Oboe

The club was cool, laid back, and really slick;

Art Deco styled, but chromed and black and glowing.

Too bad the cigarette smoke was making me sick,

Cos now the excitement in the crowd was growing.

I strolled across the polished wooden floor

Through the tables to the music stage.

I carried up a Bach sinfonia score,

Loose, but careful not to drop one page.

My reeds were soaking in a glass of Coke;

I fetched ’em out and set ’em in my horn.

They’re laughing now at someone’s clever joke.

For just a moment, I feel old and worn.

But when I raise the old horn to my lips,

I’m young again, within the Muses’ grips.


About Michael Butchin

I was born, according to the official records, in the Year of the Ram, under the Element of Fire, when Johnson ruled the land with a heavy heart; in the Cradle of Liberty, to a family of bohemians. I studied Chinese language and literature at Rutgers University, New Brunswick. I spent some years in Taiwan teaching kindergarten during the day, and ESOL during the evenings. I currently work as a high school ESOL teacher, and am an unlikely martial artist. I have spent much of my life amongst actors, singers, movie stars, beautiful cultists, Taoist immortals, renegade monks, and at least one martial arts tzaddik. I currently reside in Beijing's Dongcheng district
This entry was posted in Writing. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.