Friday’s Poem

Back in LA

Hanging out at the Light House
Mixing with the black cats —
All attention and aggression
Arms lightly resting
On the backs of worn wooden chairs,
Fingers casually brushing
Against the light fabric of a dress
Tan bare legs tapping to the beat
Eyes locking, smiling

Two drink minimum loosens up the crowd.
Heads bobbing, finger’s snapping
Music builds
Crescendos, builds again
Bodies swaying now, eyes closed
Cocktail napkins wipe sweaty brows.
In the close-packed room
Halston & Chivas, White Shoulders,
And Black Russians mingle in the tobacco haze.

Jazz greats blare from dusty speakers
Between sets
Miles, Gillespie and Getz
Cut into the din.
Drinks spill on cheap black trays
Held high by harried waitresses
Orders shouted into the thick air
“Sweetheart, get me another beer
And I’ll have a white wine for the lady.”

Appraising looks, old worn-out riffs
Come-ons flow, push, cajole
“Baby, where’d you get an ass like that?”
Where you goin’? Lemme talk to you awhile.”
Funky, earthy, raw and raunchy – the games on
An’ it’s soooo cool.