There are times when music takes you
to places and events long forgotten, like
listening to Old Blind Dogs and suddenly
I am again a new L2 with two years
to the J.D. and bar exam, scratching by
teaching SAT prep courses, when she called
and said the proverbial rabbit died and I
finished and broke out in hives for this
was planned, yes, but not then, not then.
Then I was in Stamford in the Marriott
preparing for a meeting the next day
when a series of phone calls upended
the world, a shooting, in surgery, in a car
speeding across Connecticut uncertain
what I would find, then okay but wounded
and incredibly lucky, a centimeter either way
and unimaginably real consequences.
And later a phone call, “Houston labor
has started, I repeat labor has started,”
and pacing until her tiny face appears
on the screen and this time the hives
don’t make an appearance, only smiles.
So, son, when you are in Scotland, see
if you can catch Old Blind Dogs and see
where their music may suddenly take you