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Pastels
Jesse Seegar
The New Year comes, the Old Year goes.
What's down the road nobody knows.
I play my suit with a poker face,
But Father Time he holds the ace.
Harlem was ushering in the New Year.
Merrymaking crowds zigzagged through the streets.
Wild-eyed boys banged out crazy rhythms
On boxes and buckets and cans.
Taxicabs sent breakers of honking frenzy
Crashing against scabrous walls.
Now and then whistles jackknifed
Through the delirium of sound.
Met a Creole woman
Down in New Orleans.
Sweet, sweet Creole mama
Down in New Orleans.
Creole woman stole my heart
With her conjure beans.
Jesse Seegar elbowed his way along Seventh Avenue.
“I'm turning over a new leaf,” he reassured himself.
“I'm leaving Lovie Lovelace alone for good.”
Old Samson he was big an' strong,
But let a woman git ’im wrong.
Just keep a level head, you fool;
Then you won't be no woman's tool.
The sidewalk in front of the Lafayette Theatre was jammed.
Seegar stepped on the corns of a big-bellied yellow man.
Seegar apologized effusively
As the stranger groaned:
“You blind bastard!”
Then tinkled the silver dinner bell
Of a woman's clear, fragile laughter.
A familiar hand clasped his arm.
Seegar's heart fluttered like a frightened hen.
“Sweetheart,” dimpled the woman,
And the large black eyes vivified
The russet-tinted face.
Jesse Seegar said breathlessly:
“Lovie Lovelace…I…
I didn't expect to see you here.”
They disappeared in the dusky tide
That swirled along Seventh Avenue.
What does it matter? You an' I
Are like the dead leaves driftin' by.
I play my suit with a poker face,
But Father Time he holds the ace.
Dave Zachary
Why will a dawg leave one good bone
To git another bone?
Why don't a woman wid one good man
Leave other men alone?
The big-bellied yellow man limped
Toward the door of The Zachary Eat Shop.
Breathing a sigh of relief, he entered his domain.
“Hello, Zachary,” came a din of voices.
Flashing a gold-toothed grin,
He gave a half-military salute
And rocked toward the table where his wife sat,
Her chin resting on her cupped palm.
“Hello, Honey,” He patted the velvety brown hand
Bediamonded with miniature constellations.
She drawled: “You got here at last.”
He slumped into a seat and grimaced:
“After a damn nigger almost ruined my feet.”
She frowned: “I'm tired as hell, Dave.”
After a pause, he suggested:
“You better turn in early, Honey. You've had a hard day.”
He escorted her to the door. “Good night,” he said.
She pecked him on the cheek and joined the upgoing crowd.
In front of the Lafayette Theatre
A dusky Beau Brummel laughed:
“I thought you'd never come, Precious.”
Her hazel eyes answered him
With a passionate gleam.
If a woman wants another man,
There's nothing you kin do,
But look around to find someone
Who wants a man like you.
Hailing a taxicab,
He guided her to the curb.
To the driver he said:
“Jazz Boker's Place on Strivers' Row.”
Tubby Laughton
Mind yo' business, Black Boy,
An' we will git on fine.
I may not want you, Black Boy,
To help me handle mine.
Harlem was ushering in the New Year.
A taxicab stopped in front of The Zachary Eat Shop.
Tubby entered the café with a purposeful stride.
A white-jacketed West Indian stood near the door.
Tubby hesitated. “Where's Zachary?” he queried.
The West Indian barked: “At the last table on the right.”
The top of the table was hidden
By dishes swollen with food.
Dave Zachary's beefy head hung low over an enormous platter
Glutted with porterhouse steak.
Tubby's little eyes gleamed with greed.
The big-bellied yellow man looked up…
Very much like a hog disturbed at its trough.
Zachary back-wiped his mouth. “Well?” he snorted.
“One good turn deserves another,” Tubby said.
“Mr. Zachary, I just drove Mrs. Zachary an' a strange man
To Jazz Boker's Place on Strivers' Row.”
Dave Zachary's huge fist struck like a ...
