Jazz Mutation

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
Really needs the backing music, but this is the tale of the New Jazz Child.

Submitted: March 05, 2008

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Submitted: March 05, 2008



Sebastian was born just after midnight
In the early moments and the pale light
Of a delivery room
On the East Coast
One cold November not long ago.

The contractions began early that evening
While his mother, who’d just finished cleaning,
Watched cathode ray
Set in hospital wards.

Before the doctors and nurses had checked it,
The one and only thing not quite expected
Was the rhythm
Beat out inside
Her echoing womb.

As she lay on her back in the spotlight,
The midwife coo-cooing her hold tight,
It was observed that the
Kicks from inside her
Were unusually loud.

So Sebastian’s story unravelled.
Waters broke as head-first the boy travelled,
A shock of red hair
On his forehead
The first to emerge.

Itself not seen as that unusual,
What transpired shortly after is crucial:
Head, shoulders and body
Were revealed totally
Clear of fluid.

Video footage remains showing, close up,
Sebastian, smiling, then rose up,
Blinking in silence
And stretching
A wide, open hand.

Hovering almost two feet off the slab there,
His chubby hand darted out, made a grab where
The midwife stood stunned
With a scalpel
Held loose in her hand.

The umbilical cord was soon severed neatly
And, smiling now, everso sweetly,
The child handed
The silver blade
Back to the open-mouthed nurse.

Raising an eyebrow, as if shocked of a sudden,
And surveying the perhaps half-a-dozen
Dumbfounded and frozen
Medical hosts

Sebastian spoke:

The voice it continued, unceasing,
Its volume forever increasing
As Sebastian hovered
And the doctors all fell
Back in fear.

Now, wobbling out through the room’s door
And progressing four feet off the tiled floor,
The gleaming and babbling infant
Continued to groove.

As cleaners and doctors and nurses
Jumped back into wards, clutching purses,
Sebastian smiled and
Hovered on his
Tuneful way.

Now in the dark lift shaft, descending,
His song echoed out, neverending,
Sending terror and
Wonder and awe
The hospital through.

Sebastian reached the main foyer,
His song drowning out Alison Moyet,
Whose voice had been
Played on the radio
Moments before.

The receptionist dived, ‘neath her table,
Would have blocked her ears, had she been able,
And peeked through a crack
To see Sebastian
Approaching the doors.

The grizzled old cleaner at the door
Had been working there forty years or more
And beamed white teeth
From his black face
As he waved Sebastian into the night.

© Copyright 2018 Richard Elliott. All rights reserved.

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