Friday, June 27, 2008

Jukebox

I sit at the bar with him,

as he smacks black

lips at fresh – faced bitches.


Red eyes and gritted brown teeth

answer my cleared throat. Stalking

to the toilet, I hear

“I put a spell on you/ cause you’re mine…”


The voice knocks me in the spine, the brass

trombone becoming my frenetic pulse.


I can smell his smoke, midway from the bar,

from the lavatory. But when I open my mouth

the blaring horn fills it.


I’m looking at myself, a raspy, throaty singer

drowning the smoke with honeyed magma.


The song ends. The horn leaves me.

The smoke returns. I retreat.

2 comments:

Sucharita Sarkar said...

Music, magic on the body, madness, mayhem in the mind - this poem is so-essentially you. Good stuff!

Paul Bernard said...

I love that song. Which version of it is heard in the poem though. Screamin Jay would be good, but something scary may have happened.

Great poem though. There is a lot of lust in your work, which I like.