THE LIVES OF DEAD JAZZ SINGERS: Jo Stafford

27 02 2009

THE LIVES OF DEAD JAZZ SINGERS:
Jo Stafford
The Chesterfield Supper Club. Radio Show. Some singing. Some jokes. A lot of coughing. Jo Stafford. Perfect pitch. She could have played for the Yankees. Outside in the alley three wise men were singing in the rain. Pounding at her door. Not lovers. Messengers. Crooners dying of loneliness. A letter in the vanity. You belong to me. A paramour stood in her closet. Feeling foolish and alone. Sinatra stood at the open door. Smiling. Stockings over his shoulders. She threw an ashtray at him. We didn’t get married and he’s dead now. I hear it every time I tear up. Because I never stopped loving him. Frank smiled. Moments later Jo died at age 90. But not yet. Watch the moon set over the harbour. Let’s all say goodbye. And Sinatra stood at the mike. A cigarette in his fingers. Fingers that fade away. Old sailors no longer get their pants pressed. And the fleet is in moth balls. The dust has settled. The war was won. And the retirement homes are run by government men. Dying of congestive heart failure. And Jo Stafford leans her cheek against the moon outside the window pain. Now, its time to say goodbye.
jo-stafford
watch?v=6x24oxzwNwY


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