Jack Kennedy was a friend of mine

in an open G
the sun beat down on my face
i walked through fertile rice paddies
without any hints of disgrace
the hard drumming
of my heart
a quick beating
a new start
a sharp cry
the sky
in a minor chord
with notes of perfect plum
and some
German hops
found in abundance on bar tops
the ceaseless roar
of a constant world war
put some hurt on me
and no musical balm
could provide complete calm
with the radio turned on
i heard Charley Patton
playing his spoon
inside a burning tent
Clark Kent sitting by his side
getting high in the phone booth
neatly dressed and never uncouth
i tapped my feet while wearing old shoes
beaten down with dirt road blues
on an American night
black and white
rich and poor
wanting everything but settling for just a little more
getting by on the fly
watching the kitchen sink
drain the last of my three a.m. drink
Chicago,
some said, was the only place to go
to feel the ease
but one didn't have to say please
in New Orleans
wearing sharecropper jeans
behind the last alley door
the dance floor
full of soles in 1929
when Jack Kennedy was a friend of mine
seemed a simpler time
to strum a tune
make the rounds
lean back
let the sounds
lick my face like a happy puppy might
yes, it wasn't pure delight
but close enough
to smooth the brittle rough
and one memorable chorus
or spoken line
when Jack Kennedy was a friend of mine
might bring visions of glorious Camelot:
sometimes it's all i've got!