Rattle-Can Hazarai

Half past midnight
she sings drunk jazz
in your shower
while you wait your turn
in orange glow
emanating from an end table
the sweet stench rising
from what has petered out
and you can't complain
of that layoff, man
with bartenders after hours--
snap snap
roll roll
snap snap.
New song.
Sugar and salt look the same.

Currently reading:
"Barrow Street" (Winter 2016/2017).

No comments: