Bird and Dizzy bound out of the doghouse
like fuming dialogue between enemies.
Flaring from a short-lived brotherhood,
captains of beatnik, Bird didn’t fly.
Outcasts, cotton became concerts
where white people sat in the back
looking over noble, black heads.
Genuine men made hurricanes sing.
Latin America, Cuban licks succeeded in
thickening a viscous music that keeps
euphony thrust upward, never lonely,
accepted on its own in blown cheeks and bent brass.