Something Like It


With a little hip
wiggle, a shimmy
’cross the dance floor
by a long-legged girl,
short skirt riding up
her thighs;

a stare
across the bar, eyes
beckoning a sullen man
to come
out for a...
through the pressing
and grinding rhythm
of a stand-up bass
and the brass
of a saxophone;
a pouty, red-lipped excuse
to tilt dimpled chin,
gaze into           eyes,
toss dark hair
over bare shoulders;
through liquor, dirty brown,
flowing strong and stiff,
dim lighting,
haze from cigarettes;
under the faint call
of what’s your name
drowned by the last
swig of bourbon
and the long moan
of the band;
the breathless release
of first names only,
lips glazed with saliva.