I believe in Clapton and Robert Cray,
in Bessie and Billie and Stevie Ray—

In Milton. In Louis.  Both Sonny Boys Too.        
In Doc and in Dub and in Barbecue.

    Acoustic harmonica, bottle neck slide.
    Amped up electric—full-open, wide.
   
In Muddy and Buddy and Magic Sam,
In Tommy Castro, Slam Stewart’s C-Jam.

In John Lee Hooker, and Booker T, 
in Pine Top Perkins and Brownie McGhee.      

    Shuffle and back beat, a note that bends.
    The twelve bar limit where everything ends.

In Koko, Shamekia, Bull City Red,
Bill Broonzy, Ma Rainey, The Grateful Dead.

In Wynonie Harris, Big Mama, and Taj,
In Blind Boy and T-Bone and Mamie and Jazz, 

    St. Louis and Memphis and Bobby ‘Blue’ Bland.
    A saxophone solo, a full brass band.

In Janiva Magnus and Lillian Glinn.
In Yancey and Estes and Chris Thomas King.
 
In Meade Lux, Maceo. In Jelly Roll,
In Otis. In Sunnyland, Smiley and Mose.

    I always hang on for the closing act.
    I believe in the blues. 

Now that’s a fact.