The Next Song

A poem by Ben Nardolilli

Weary blues, but really
What other kind could there be?
Happy blues seems an insult
To the whole tradition,
And jaunty blues is just wrong

Anyways, I got the weary blues
And the weary blues got me,
Better than being alone, I guess,
Imagine being so sad
Even the weary blues stays away

I need to discharge it, loose it,
Keep it from following me,
I appreciate the company,
But the weary blues is too heavy,
Besides, I can hardly sing

Ben Nardolilli currently lives in New York City. His work has appeared in Perigee Magazine, Red Fez, Danse Macabre, The 22 Magazine, Quail Bell Magazine, Elimae, fwriction, Inwood Indiana, Pear Noir, The Minetta Review, and Yes Poetry. He blogs via Blogger, at Lo Specchio e La Spugna, and is looking to publish a novel.


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