Beth Camp Historical Fiction

Friday, October 11, 2013

October 11: Last call . . .

Down the bar,
someone's playing
piano, thunky-plunk picking
out a tune that makes
no sense a-tall,
midnight blues,
and me stirring
smokey Joe,
I told her I don't
drink and watched her eyes
flick past me.
Maybe someone else
will slide on that bar stool
next to me.
Middle C says not.
My lips remember
the saxophone of my youth,
pucker sweet.
Last call.

I honestly don't know where this one came from. I hate bars. I grew up in bars, waiting for my mother, watching the round clock on the wall. When I was a teen, I danced to Fats Domino and fell in love with stride piano and the sax.

Today's OctPoWriMo poetry prompt asks us to use sound in our poem. So here's "Blue Monday" featuring the one and only Fats and a little sax solo by Herb Hardesty. Not quite like my poem but, oh my, that's piano and sax.

Read what others have written for OctPoWriMo here.