Frances & Betty & Cicely & the Others

(a poem about Miles Davis)

As if the ability to blow into a horn
is more important than the ego balloon it took to suck
the air out of a woman’s voice. As if Sketches of Spain
is anything but a masterpiece. As if calling yourself
“the prince of darkness” is something to be proud of.
As if any moonlight could compete with the power light
on my CD player the first time I truly understood jazz
illumination. As if the only hits some women will remember
you by are the ones that were fist print to skin. As if
any rock band could compete with the balls of Bitches Brew.
As if we are all enablers of dark behavior by not
replacing “genius” with “narcissist.” As if you weren’t a
fighter who boxed his way through life and landed every
punch. As if you didn’t make an impact on every genre in
my record collection. As if you never really knew what love was, man.