My Brother of Jazz

I think I once had a brother
I do not recall having one
Maybe he was just imaginary, and the songs I heard were nothing more than our mother going wild after crummy sex
Maybe he was a Jazz musician
Or maybe he died in Chicago
Chicago, oh what a town
Of music, of joy
Brother liked Jazz
Brother liked the Blues
Brother liked women with no shoes
Brother liked crummy poems, such as this one
But brother was not real
And so he died the moment he was born
Perhaps he was a Jazz musician
Or a baby with no hair
But a brother he was to me