Two-Step
by Michael Keshigian
|
We watch them gig
in the pit
playing funky jazz licks
in modal timbres
makes me squirm.
I say
let’s blow this joint
when this babe be-bops from behind
hands in my hair
says we can really groove.
Flattered
I dance through the night
till light
cuts a ray
through her ceramic face
cracking beauty
into puzzle fragments.
Flaking
she starts to sing
the blues.
|
|
|
|
Copyright © 2024 by Red River Review. First Rights Reserved. All other rights revert to the authors. No work may be reproduced or republished without the express written consent of the author. |