On 58th and Broadway,
wind blowing, snow whirling,
I opened my guitar case.
Ringing rhythm of hot jazz and blues.
Playing songs with fire, brimstone servings.
Christsake, my family, they were long gone.
Came across country, straight out of Chicago.
Hell, racing through smoky towns.
Eastbound, mind fixed on hidden interest.
Lines used from Bob Dylan’s Chronicles: Volume 1
Pages 3 through 8
Written for Found Poetry Review’s Poetry Prompt