Max Roach Sticks
for H.L.T.

i.
his sticks vibrate as fast as wings
as if with them his wish was to fly away home

humming bird’s wings when his sticks flew
or he’d use them to strike back
at something threatening

tease it, play with what is venomous
tame what can kill, what has killed others

as quick as matador with cape with his sticks
life and death, what he’s playing with

ii.
surrenders as if a gun was drawn on him
raises his arms, sticks in his fists

like weapons to fight with
sticks with which, upon drums he made music

were you to get near enough
enemy of man, enemy of his, of mine

enemy of mind, he’d whack you
until he disarmed you or until your gun went off
or until you ran away

entered a realm, a room where angels were
not expected who could do what’s impossible
work miracles

not expecting the supernatural

I’d heard of Max Roach, had never met him
even though I must have heard him drumming
for saxophones, drumming for trumpets

jamming with Herbie Hancock, with Miles Davis

iii.
as quick as you had to be with a sword
he is with his sticks

who does he fight with, is he fighting with

when he drums, in battle with who/with what
and would not surrender

or is he rehearsing for some opponent
bound to show up

threat to himself, his family, to the family of man

but he is armed with two sticks
two sticks which he uses quick

sticks with which he can tackle mosquitoes, flies

turn away a plague, threatening to engulf a city
claim several hundred thousand

what is it he’s out to reverse
with his drums, with his drum sticks

iv.
cooking in the kitchen, mixing that, mixing this

eggs broken, emptied out into a dish
he beats, he whips

egg white, egg yolk
integrated until air fills a trillion bubbles

onions and red peppers,
a spatula and hot fat,
breakfast to fix

he knows what to whip and how
who to whip to dress for Sunday school

v.
is it like rain falling upon leaves
upon petals of a great variety of flowers

petals of many colors, wet in/wet by falling rain

his drum sticks, his drum sticks tips
upon that, upon this

like rain drops, without discriminating
falling upon sinners, upon saints
upon umbrellas raised

the sound rain makes, he makes

it falls upon a tin can, a tin roof

upon a paper cup
upon the roofs of the world

he beats his drums, they speak in tongues

Max Roach in his upper room
makes Jazz music

makes me some, makes you some
some to go, some to stay

carried away when his sticks fly
like birds in the sky

I see a rainbow, I know I’m safe
I know I’m saved


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
Written on Wednesday,
July 29, 2009, between 8:55 p.m.
and 10 p.m.