Blues
In memory of John Lee Hooker





In the mornings I drink my coffee with Andalusian rum
Vertiginous parades pass along the New York streets,
Black people, blackberry, black coffee, black blues
On sidewalks, into ad-hoc paradises, the concrete itself gapes.
Rain, like some chords, irritating and ceaselessly hits
The passers hurrying to their annoying jobs
The corner beer factory black porter's woman loves
Her child, preparing him some crispy tartines.
The captains from harbors are sick of the violet frigates and they talk
Of sad treasures, left by the cruel Jamaican pirates,
On the sea-front, so faintly bleached by the blue sun beams,
Palms rich in leaves get pale, shadowing matinal cormorants.
In the coffee with rum I drown chipply my four-legged winks,
Waiting for cigarettes with a flavor of liquor of dreams,
Bitter and irascible leadlike notes are still flowing along guitar chords,
Fading away in a declaration of love verbal glimpse.

In the mornings I drink my coffee with Jamaican rum,
Pale and sad students are passing on the streets of Bucharest
White people, white feathers, white coffee and cream,
The concrete gets colored light-green, in the actresses’ eyes.