Super-Villain Style

I do not know who Lowman is.

The song he wrote, I remember
was found at the top of a stack
of ’45’s in a milk crate.

A horn, the sound of rush hour
played from my mother’s radio
during the late-night dusty show
At the first of a slow and dirty rhythm.

The Cold, Soul, Super Bad, Payback:
Two fists pound into the back of my head,
Continuously.

Over the years, the song evolved–
Reworked, remade, remixed;
A duet, a solo,
A call and response;
A ’50’s, New York, Chattanooga train soundtrack
from a Hollywood flick.

A plea from one man, first spoken by another–
Lowman.
His legacy:

A song
that does not belong to his name anymore.

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