{"id":11874,"date":"2015-06-13T22:43:43","date_gmt":"2015-06-14T02:43:43","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/?p=11874"},"modified":"2015-06-13T22:43:43","modified_gmt":"2015-06-14T02:43:43","slug":"jazz-man","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/2015\/06\/jazz-man\/","title":{"rendered":"Jazz Man"},"content":{"rendered":"<p>when I grow up I want to be a jazz musician,<\/p>\n<p>play the piano fast, infuse my tunes<\/p>\n<p>with Afro Cuba and relate stories of<\/p>\n<p>my days on the road and in old Havana when<\/p>\n<p>gangsters, writers and gigolos all<\/p>\n<p>wore mustaches and you couldn\u2019t<\/p>\n<p>tell the farmers from the intellectuals but<\/p>\n<p>they all loved Jazz Americano and I would<\/p>\n<p>sit on my bench and drawl my faux<\/p>\n<p>southern accent into the mic, smile and tell<\/p>\n<p>the woman how much I liked her<\/p>\n<p>frivolous little hat with\u00a0yellow bird attached<\/p>\n<p>or lots of veiling that was too warm to wear in<\/p>\n<p>this tropical island club but it would catch my eye<\/p>\n<p>red haired\u00a0woman trying to look blas\u00e9, drinking<\/p>\n<p>something sweet filled with fruit, skirt tight<\/p>\n<p>displaying lots of leg, mucho promise of<\/p>\n<p>later tonight with the artist, me the piano player<\/p>\n<p>hiding himself away in Havana until Castro and the Fidelistos<\/p>\n<p>took over one American dream dried up and<\/p>\n<p>where can I go with this angle all worked out<\/p>\n<p>my\u00a0accent perfected and my repertoire complete<\/p>\n<p>from the American \u201cHit Parade\u201d and a Cuban<\/p>\n<p>tune to show my attempt at authenticity<\/p>\n<p>designed like the creative guy I was to sway the women<\/p>\n<p>and tell the men I, too was macho, not an untalented<\/p>\n<p>swindler afraid to go back home and start again.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>when I grow up I want to be a jazz musician, play the piano fast, infuse my tunes with Afro Cuba and relate stories of my days on the road and in old Havana when gangsters, writers and gigolos all wore mustaches and you couldn\u2019t&#8230;<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":180,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-11874","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/11874","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/180"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=11874"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/11874\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":11882,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/11874\/revisions\/11882"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=11874"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=11874"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=11874"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}