396

396

JOHN COLTRANE : Mr. Day

My papers blew-w-w

f-f-from the balcony of the Regent.

I had been making a cocktail with rum

And ginger ale when one of the bellhops

Opened the door,

And a gust caught them up from

The table in front of the balcony

And they played white on the warm wind.

I ran after, spilling my mixture in gobs

Over the parquet before the railing.

The boy mouthed oh-oh-oh.

I made and he and I drinked. Blassom

Was in a bole near the sink and a shalky-white

Face of Paris pflaster had flowers in

On the console where they left the keys

In a wallet of vanilla-coloured paper.

I trode the balcony and leaned my arm

Out into the air.

There were planes crossing in far blue

And the shapes of churches like long bodies.

The morning came up in one opalescent swell.

I was feeling good with the drink,

And then the door closed behind my guest,

And then it was five o'glück in the afternoon.

I never got back any of the papers

So that my sour letters weren't sent

And the last of them there solder

To my body in sleep its jumbled word,

Meaning the bulb was gone,

And I had to get up on a ladder

From where I could see slow cars peeling

Onto the highway, flowing into the distance.