Far Away

In San Francisco      

there is a radio station that my radio geek likes.

He listens faithfully each Sunday night.

The station plays live jazz.

One night our son played.

Drums, in a symphonic jazz number, are slight.

Keeping the beat in the background,

hidden by the the improvs up front.

I didn't realize that Charlie Parker wrote the

old/new jazz for orchestras,

but it makes sense.

He was the original original.

In jazz.

We heard our son, though,

just a few ghost notes and

quiet flams.

We knew it was him (he).

He played in our house 

for 10 years.

We readily recognize his chops.

And then I cried.

I miss him, I suddenly realized.

New York City is just too far away.