In the soft blues and whisky breath
of a hotel bar at midnight moon
oblivious to the scent of death
they cling tightly to
the piano’s tune
deep growls from the saxophone.
The high pitch of breaking glass
-a shiver down the spine, a moan.
A sway of hips, a touch of lips
daylight darkness kept in check
night music, wails of the dispossesed;
war and peace dance cheek to cheek
da.. da.. da.. da.. da...
the saxophone sings the blues tonight
ra ta ta ta ta
a crackle of machine-gun fire.
van de Vis, Beatrice - Ascent Aspirations Anthology No 7, Spring 2009