Sunday morning after Sunday night
This morning I’m playing Chuck Berry,
as we all should.
Last evening as I said an early aged
good-night to my phone,
it gave me one last gasp
of news: Chuck Berry was dead.
He was slightly before my time,
but I came to him out of curiosity,
bought a double-album through
the Record Club of America,
Chuck Berry’s Great Twenty-Eight.
Until I released his voice this morning,
I’d forgotten. When visiting my brother
at college in the early seventies, we’d
heard Chuck Berry in concert,
reduced to opening act, but there
with novelty hit, ‘My Ding-a-Ling’
which does not number among
his great songs and will not be
heard this morning, a Sunday.
In churches today rather than
the usual hymns
congregations should be
singing Chuck Berry.
He saved America and still
might yet again.