|
Karaoke
itchy palms and gold note
tapping the forehead so before a moment
chokes the lyrics
tumble out of some
mental machine, a cache of
memorized atonements to beer-
drinking mate-swapping boondoggling
spirit, a prime-time
debacle cascading laughter from bellies
of the groaning spectators who
lip-sync too, their
moths like little o’s, each one recalling dance floors,
rinky-dinks, swizzle-sticked
moments when sunshine beamed on calendars
and chandeliers groaned
with roly-polies, each
singer a nightmare channeling Steven King.
|
Bookmarks
Share
Print
Save