Bay State Road Blues
Upon listening to the Rolling Stones’ Blue and Lonesome for the first time.
Remember that time, forty years ago,
when we bought Hohner blues harp harmonicas,
got high on weed, wailed
what we thought inspired music
in that student studio apartment I had
near Kenmore Square, across the street
from the dormitory where they said
Joan Baez had lived?
Or was it Martin Luther King?
Or both?
We fancied ourselves Chicago bluesmen,
Muddy Waters, Howlin’ Wolf, Jimmy Reed, Little Walter,
full of soul,
our next move to busk
on the Common or the Public Garden,
or on the Esplanade by the Charles River
until the girl in the apartment next to mine –
was her name Linda? –
pounded on the flimsy particleboard door,
threatened to call the landlord
if you don’t stop making that noise!