How to start the Clink clank Clunk of dishes? How to start the spit spatter Sputter of saxophone notes so fresh For frying fish in the pan The music knick knack Knocked into a radio He listens to As he starts the washing He has to start so the bills can get paid and so what? The what is the dishes get washed We hear Django Reinhardt because the boss is at the counter Yes he is asleep again but he's here His family left Europe during World War II And here he is the owner of the Crepe Bistro French Cafe. He hires Xuan as his cook: a man who has left his home country of Vietnam. With Beef Burgundy simmering in the back He tells the dishwasher his love stories in Vietnam marinated in blues. Basho the cook and the percussionist says, "Nothing like Being the opening cook and watching first sunlight Of day dive through the kitchen window." Mark comes

played by these harking stood jazz cats stacked sounds through trumpet sputtering-blown Piano keys clinking woven clanks the keys I mean the clanks manx Rolling shaken rhythms of notes That fishtail & turkey Jive That lady day & Pres They Ghee Chee & Yardbird Bee Bop That Satchmo, blackbottom, and scrontch and scrintch & scratch Notes that glow in the dark when your all alone The drummer The drummer keeps time in the cellar of his fragmented imagination Playing drums like a drunk man Give me another one Charlie Play the drum tell it clicks Charlie I need another one tell it clicks clacks clucks Why’d she do me like that Charlie? Perhaps we could let her do it She had to put you down. And it hurts her too. Why she just came in the other day and said how depressed she is about the whole thing but she had to put you down Georgy. Charlie keep um coming tell lit clicks Play the drums tell it clicks and blow the blues because she ate me alive I want you to howl for Lunas tell it clicks clacks clucks Weaving woven sounds that swam swum Me rim ram Measuring time like inches the drums (Solo) Measuring feet to build architecture of music Miles to travel into minutes of rhythm Into the distance of jazz (jazz scat improv) Centimeters & millimeters Of time for fingers to touch The Keloids on the face of jazz The lips sputtering-blown blues widow Black of arachnophobia of black widow blues busted out the sax Into the blues of Luna Busted out the sax into the blue Luna Key koi koo flew the blew Flea floi flew the jay See soi sew so that’s how we do (slow down here) Stee stoi stew sta stuck on rhythm Cree croi crew the motley of the Missouri Bree broi bitches brew new Blow yo’Sax to the mad max mix Meex the blues in the jazz me rum blues Me be blues Me see blues

They called me to wash dishes on my off-day. And there were buckets full of dishes. The buckets had mustaches, cigarettes in their mouths and One said: “Well pilgrim, looks like you bit off more than you can chew.” “I guess the new guy quit,” I thought to myself. Sunday is not the best day to start. The line is out the door, everybody else is busy but you. He probably thought to himself, “This is easy,”(knucklehead) then the waiter asks you to help bus this table, the waitress asks you to help bus that table and now you got dishes up the wazoo. And the dishes are a beast. Those dishes were like left hooks, right crosses, and an uppercut to the chin and finally the Inevitable body blow that sent his fanny home putting everybody else in panic mode. As I rode my bike going South on J street A right going West on 5th then a Ileft on E street towards the Crepe Bistro French cafe, In my mind there was still Echoes from last night: Lightning crashes a new mother cries Her placenta falls to the floor The angel opens her eyes. I came in anyway because I needed the money and I had my eyes on becoming a cook. Just as I walked in and they all stared. There was no time to look back though. The dishes were waiting for me and there were three fondue pots. Fondue pots are punches from Jack Johnson. You have to soak them for hours just so you can have a chance at washing them. Why? The swiss cheese coagulates to the bottom of the pot. Try to get the cheese out the bottom is like trying to get The devil out of hell. You have to fight with a brillo pad and a scrubber. One is hard enough but three? I said to myself, “I’m au get my Sugar Ray on,” and I rolled up my sleeves and rubbed my hands. Like I said there were still echoes of music in my head from last night. The night time waiter that I’ve been closing with always closes with the Throwing Copper album by Live and he loves to sing the Lightning Crashes song: Oh now feel it, comin’ back again. . . Lightning had crashed and I was in the middle of the confusion and I had To get that We about to box look on for these dishes. I threw a left. I threw a right. I threw an uppercut And got back on my bicycle. Wipe the scraps into the trash. Put the plates and silverware all on one side. Put the cups and glasses all on the other side. Delicately put the sexy wine glasses on top of the dishwasher by their sweet necks. Run the hot steamy water, and an hour later I had tamed the beast. I was in a flow. I had just bought the Wu Tang’s Cash Rules Everything Around me Tape But there was no way I would be able to Play it with the boss here. Something nostalgic about Django Reinhardt all day. The boss falling asleep at the counter And Xuan--The boss of the work from Vietnam-- Cooking Beef Bourguignon. The smell simmering from The back mixing with the smell of crepes. The sound of crepe batter being poured On our two large crepe griddles. The sound of people chattering. No one on a cell phone. The clinks and clanks of cups and plates. And at the Smoke Tree, the smell of a cigarette, because Isacc always found a way to get away and take a puff. Everybody had their tapes ready and we were all waiting for the boss To leave. I was last in the rotation so I didn’t have a chance until Later, later on. But I was washing dishes and I was in a flow. It felt like I was In a Shaolin Temple “What do you hear?” I hear the dishes, grandfather. “And what do they tell you?” A restaurant can not function without clean dishes. “And?” No one will give tips if the dishes are dirty. “Goodt. You understand my child But there is still much to learn. I must teach you about the silver bowl during The Song Dynasty and the golden spoon That thought it was a fork.” “Today was a good day,” like Ice Cube said. My tips were phat. In a few weeks I would be cooking.

The dishwasher washes in time like the drummer ‘Till the waitress walks in And then the dishes start dropping The pots, the pots, The pots dropping To the rhythm of sticks and drums The forks, the forks The forks, the spoons Falling, falling fell into the well of rhythm He says, “The plates, the plates I keep breaking dishes When you walk in At this rate I’ll be fired before the day caves in. The drums and the congas lock So we can get unlocked These are the wine glasses of my love for you Glasses of Merlot, Cabernet Sauvignon, and Pinot Noir Chardonnay, Sauvignon Blanc, Pinot Grigio, Gewurztraminer The sounds of the wine glasses of my love. . . Shimmering like cymbals shim shim shimmering A vision of your lips.”

From his dark eyes Tears of turquoise blues split splat On the ground. He reaches the place And we hear the sea. Even the sea had the blues If the sea was vodka I’d be a diving drunk He said to himself He takes the knot from his pocket And knocks it against the blue stone Which was once the cyclop’s eye. Three times he knocks it against the stone. Purple smoke mushrooms above il mara Oinyo sea. We see the falcons appear. There is a huge falcon in the center with a bandana on his head and a popeye. The man with the red shoes only sees his right eye which is a deep black. Black black pupils. The huge falcon with the popeye begins to speak. “Who dares beckon me, “Says the falcon. “It is the wander of the hills The pluck of the string The zang of the fina The howl of the horn It is I The son of the peasant The grandson of the fisherman, He says “So be it,” says the falcon, “What do you want?” “Open the summit of hte smoking mountain that posses The red egg of the ancient bird. This shall free my Ila From La Tarantola who has taken her deep into the woods.” Then the falcon opened his popeye, his left eye, it was glittering green, delicately fragile and half the size of his right eye,. “You must cut the ankles off the cane during the full moon of February. After you cut the cane You must make a Sardegnain clarinet. Then you shall go to Mount Vesuvius and play and then and only then will the smoking mountain of Pompay open for you. And there you shall find your egg.” So he set out to get the canes during the full moon of February. He got the canes. Dring dee pak shoe fanismo. He set out to Vesuvius on a black horse. When he finally reached Mount Vesuvius the golden sun was setting and turning red. And he began to play. Shoot streams of music. Mount Vesuvius opened with a golden light and the red eggs were there in the center. He grabbed the red egg and galloped off on the black horse. He traveled into the woods. Once in the middle of the woods he got off his horse. You could hear the dry leaves crackling as he walked. In a green meadow he saw La Tarantola with a mustache and the six evil eyes of doom. He knew that if La Tarantola would see him with one of those evil eyes of doom that he would have a bad day., Not just any bad day. Not just any bad day. But having your back cracked by the jaws of a dragon, or being eaten alive by a million mosquitoes. That kind of bad day. So he crawled on all fours like a wolf, La Tarantola moved back so he stopped and La Tarantola stopped and rested. Then he snuck up to La Tarantola and smashed the red egg on top of him. La Tarantola disappeared into the atmosphere., then he looked for his lovely Ila who was tied against a tree. When he saw her he ran to her. He untied her and smiled but she was acting very strange. She had been bitten by La Tarantola and the mark was upon her neck. So he went to his village to get some musicians to play the Pitska. They got together with drum, guitar, tamorrejoe, and violin. And thus the Pietska began. She danced and danced and rolled on the ground. For days she was possessed by La Tarantola. And for days she danced,. On the eleventh day the violin broke. But the music must continue so I took this instrument that I bought from a child on the harbor. He couldn't buy a violin and made up his own violin. I bought this first violin from him and now he sells them on the streets of Florence. I took it and began to play and play, I played. I played and played and she awoke Ilam Ilam Ila she woke from the trance with her really dark beautiful eyes. He took her by the hands and we heard the bells ringing. We heard the bells ringing and they walked hand in hand into the fig grove.

How to start the Clink clank Clunk of dishes? How to start the spit spatter Sputter of saxophone notes so fresh For frying fish in the pan? The music knick knack Knocked into a radio He listens to As he starts the washing. He has to start so the bills can get paid and so what? The what is the dishes get washed. We hear Django Reinhardt because the boss is at the counter. Yes he is asleep again but he’s here. His family left Europe during World War II And here he is the owner of the Crepe Bistro French Cafe. He hires Xuan as his cook: a man who has left his home country of Vietnam. With Beef Burgundy simmering in the back. He tells the dishwasher his love stories in Vietnam marinated in blues. Basho the cook and the percussionist says, “Nothing like Being the opening cook and watching first sunlight Of day dive through the kitchen window.” Mark comes into cook or prep quicke on Xuan’s off days. His ponytail of red hair like a fishtail brushing his shoulders when he twists his head. He chuckles when he recalls the Grateful Dead. Isaac the waiter in black recalls the music of the 80s and puts some Billy Idol or Cindy Lauper on anytime the Grateful Dead Cd comes to an end. The little battles at work: Laura puts on some Joni Mitchel when it’s safe: California, California. They leave to take a cigarette under the Smoke Tree. Breaks fluctuate between traffic of customers and so do the dishes. Rebecca the cyclist comes to work each day with a new injury until she breaks her left leg. She comes to work on crutches while Blue Water, our night time dishwasher comes to work as Elvis. His hair sunglasses, side burns, and outfit down to a tee. Tom falls in love with Megan. Joe puts on Jetro Tull. They journey with reckless abandon with parties that flirt with futility. The dishwasher hears the story of how the cops came at 4 a.m. and stopped the party of ravers, Grateful Deaders, and the 80’s retro crew. And yet the dishes must be washed. Jingle jangle a jungle of hot jazz Knocked out the radio: skee bop tah kee whee. . . tuh duh String strang String strange Strung out on dishes. . . This portrait of a dishwasher Sketched across pages Represents the thousand of hands He uses to wash dishes His feet painted into Rivers of footsteps. His hands dive dove Through the suds Into to the hot water belly Of dishes sinking sank sunk Into a sink Like fallen ships of yore With buried treasure. The dishwasher finds the treasure When the dishes become him. He washes the dishes of his mind: The curve of a bowl The flatness (flat) of a plate The tight spaces of a cup The rigid sharpness of a knife Carefully. He washes his last dish for the day --or so he thinks. His hands like a swan in flight, Fingers feathers Splashes into bubbling suds Through the water To pull the sink strainer And release the water. We hear the water draining As the dishwasher walks away To dry in the sun.