Biscuits and Blues*

A plate of deep-fried chicken,
Slaw and greens and ice-cold beer
Did provide the perfect harmony
For what we came to hear.

When the blues is on the menu,
Southern fare is de rigueur
And the biscuits, honey-buttered,
Only added to the lure.

While the saxophone was wailing
And guitar strings nimbly picked,
We were chowing down on vittles,
Fingers prim and proper licked.

The proprietor was clever
In the name that he did choose
For we savored every moment
Of the biscuits and the blues.

*a blues club in San Francisco