Blue Jean Blues (Anderson)

Dedicated to ZZ Top

The Coronavirus runs amuck—decimating

Chinese and Italians and, now,

us.

It seeps through porous boundaries of hospitals and ERs,

causing inexplicable runs

on hand sanitizer

and toilet paper.

But I fixate on Billy Gibbons, live on my TV screen

and singing about his Baby, who slides into his room

to swipe his 20-year-old blue jeans.

He’s improvising—

and so am I—

creating enhanced versions of our familiar selves,

ignoring the trumped-down reality of danger—

warnings about staring into the sun

or elbow-bumping strangers on Charlotte’s Blue Line.

I am anesthetized by Billy’s custom-made guitar—

blood-red and glossy—

and the way his black jacket

sparks with tiny flickers of starlight.

His chest-length beard refuses

to tangle with the strings

but his toes run rampant—just like the virus—

tapping out the rhythm to keep time. 

These Texas boys are frolicking

on that stage—under those lights—in front

of that crowd. They don’t know what’s with us tonight: 

Wuhan wet markets—one quick, fatal jump

from animal to human—borders closed too late—the lack

of supplies and ventilators.

No.

It’s just a fandango of good fun.

The blues played

without feeling blue

or bamboozled by the unknown. Wailing

on those strings and singing

at the top of our lungs.

During the pandemic, Pam Anderson and her husband, Al Bartholet, are co-creating a series of poems and commentary based on their favorite blues musicians. Although writing is a productive way to spend this time, it cannot replace seeing musicians at live venues. Pam’s new book—Just the Girls—is now available from The Poetry Box Press. https://www.pamelaranderson.org/