Pseudo portraiture

Self Portrait as Piano Bar

Swinging doors from a hokey western. Spittoon
clashes with dim blue light from the prop bar.

No resident mixologist, drink cliches arrive
when needed for a gesture or lip wetting sip

or to dive to the bottom of, plastic bathing doll
in a ball point pen. Come on in. Sit a spell.

Set your elbows on my piano, and I’ll listen
while you flirt with her universe. And if now

and then some word–“September” or “snap”–
strikes a synapse my fingers will reply lightly

in the rain, your fingers I’ll come running. And
I’ll pick up the mic. The spot follows, creating

a cone of dimness around the smooth-worn
old phrases that are at the heart of it all.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s