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This writing was accepted for publication in the 108 page perfect-bound ISSN# / ISBN# issue/book “the Blind Eye” cc&d (v265) (the September/October 2016 issue, v265) You can also order this 6"x9" issue as a paperback book:

Order this writing in the book After the Blues the cc&d July-Dec. 2016 collection book		get the 318 page July-Dec. 2016 cc&d magazine issue collection 6" x 9" ISBN# paperback book:

After the Blues

Susan J. Rogers

We were never popular in Chicago,
the mixed race lesbian couple.
She was too light. I was too white.
Angry white men shouted, “Dyke” or “Faggot”
as we walked by. I seethed. She begged me
not to start anything. We held hands, eyes
on the periphery. A skinny red-haired man
shouted at her, “Do you speak English?”
She was silent, squeezed my hand so I
would remain calm. On vacation in Wisconsin,
paying for gas, the manager asked her the rate
of exchange for pesos. We didn’t know what to say
until safely in our car, “What an idiot.”
My Chicago friends thought she was exotic.
Her friends did not trust me, except for Valerie,
who always spoke in the vernacular and said,
“That child don’t understand a word I say, do she?”
At Valerie’s house, her family cut their eyes at me.
but Valerie glared, “That’s my Jan. That’s my Jan.”
After the Blues Fest, we walked outside the fence.
There, a ragged trio played, souls on fire.
Timbales out of tune. A conga with the name
SPIRIT in crooked letters glued to the drum.
Another conga player drunk and out of time.
But these two, the SPIRIT drum and the rat eaten
timbales, attracted a crowd of African Americans.
As the crowd began to swell, they moved their hips
low to the ground. Someone plastered a dollar bill
to the timbale player’s forehead,
and another, and another.
She said, “You can dance if you want,”
but I thought it more respectful to watch
the dances of Africa. Then, two white men,
built like football players, ambled up
to the crowd, I moved closer,
waiting for the trouble to start.
The people noticed, kept dancing.
The white men got up on their toes, danced a jig,
Fairy people moving in them.
Everyone drunk and smiling, except us
who could only watch and never forget
this one-of-a-kind Chicago night.

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