one eyed man, with big hands and no friends/tribute to James Booker

one eyed man, with big hands and no friends/tribute to James Booker


fiction
edward w pritchard

Feeling sad for lost friends. Here's a repeat of an earlier story, just listening to James Booker's St james Infirmary thinking no one should die in a hospital. Poor James died of kidney failure, sitting in the ER waiting for someone to notice him. Not sure if it's better to die in the hospital attended but waiting or alone waiting for the release death will bring. The end of the dream called life.

Come certain time of night us alone long for music to soothe the ache in our hearts and none ever better than piano blues man James Booker of New Orleans.

Talent incomprehensible back dropped a life bent on destruction. The music bears the sorrow of the piano man's soul. Mostly unheard despite transcendental talent; too much drama distinctly revealed James Booker's silent suffering. Shunned by the world Booker died alone, all in, at the end of his rope.

Walk on the Sunny side of the street dark pilgrim. Ain't no body's business what you do; junko partner see you at St James Infirmary. Play on, play on. Lord look for James Booker; he be the one with the Schlitz beer in hand and a crooked eye patch on the left eye. Lift James Booker out of the wheelchair and back on the piano stool. Many songs are unrecorded.

Lord , Lord, Lord, protect those who suffer inimitably, singing unheard.