Keenan Rhodes

Summer Jazz isn’t overrated…

Summer jazz is where the black kids seem cooler than blue.

Dem brothas sway in the shade and lean against prefabricated and rundown buildings.

Parks seem to scream with a mix of juvenile and mature shouts and concrete jungles are our playgrounds,

But when you reach a certain age you get tired of games and you start to conform as your creativity comes to a screeching halt.

That is, until your foot starts uncontrollably tapping to add its own snare to the beat

Summer jazz is heels taller than blades of grass that click-clack to the melody of the community

Fresh dew is like honey that slowly dribbles down my throat and coats it so I can sweetly blow on my saxophone

Summer jazz is the jingle of the poor boys’ cup that slowly comes into synch and eases into rhythm with the tune of the block as his powdered lips utter pleas for change.

Leaves rustle in the wind and blow into abandoned apartment windows that have been cracked open from evictions.

But then there’s Sirens… they add their own sound, too

So the girls with mouths candied in Frootie Tooties scat anthems and drown out that annoying buzz of cop cars with red white and blue lights and sirens that sing too high in pitch.

Summer Jazz is faded bark that falls on rooftops of dilapidated homes making little ticks that echo in the atmosphere of a blues jam session.

Summer Jazz is Rain’s trickle against my skin that creates microscopic murmurs that add a slight backdrop to the composition.

Summer jazz is Rain’s trickle against the grey surfaces of road that create miniature claps that drop in time signatures of 3/4, 4/4, and 6/8, and added to by the patting of impatient fingers on the bus stop.

Summer jazz is the perfect synchronization of us.

Summer jazz is the connotation of the symphony of you and I that sustains itself longer than the rings inside oak trees.

Summer jazz is the coming-togetherness of the soul of the neighborhood.