Scrambled Eggs and Whiskey

　　by Hayden Carruth

　　 Scrambled eggs and whiskey

　　 in the false-dawn light. Chicago，

　　 a sweet town， bleak， God knows，

　　 but sweet. Sometimes. And

　　 weren't we fine tonight？

　　 When Hank set up that limping

　　 treble roll behind me

　　 my horn just growled and I

　　 thought my heart would burst.

　　 And Brad M. pressing with the

　　 soft stick and Joe-Anne

　　 singing low. Here we are now

　　 in the White Tower， leaning

　　 on one another， too tired

　　 to go home. But don't say a word，

　　 don't tell a soul， they wouldn't

　　 understand， they couldn't， never

　　 in a million years， how fine，

　　 how magnificent we were

　　 in that old club tonight.

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