November 18th, 2008
jazz at four a.m.
My cross of tales behind the fabulous curtain
- Dylan Thomas, To-Day, This Insect
Liquor drove him into oncoming traffic
one cardboard night, late October.
I imagined him curled neatly on the passenger
seat like a kitten on a windowsill— jolted
awake by vehicle’s zigzag waltz, then lights
etching maps of his life into onion skin
with headlamps of a ten-ton truck.
It happened in Bethlehem, of all places.
One of them walked away untouched,
good karma— or a bad case of good luck.
Driver’s penance, a fractured femur
(alcohol saved him, made him floppy).
But not the sleeper: vegetable head— skull,
mashed potatoes; hollow Halloween pumpkin.
Hands in-tact made no attempt to save his face.
Casualty waiting room: flammable trash
bin flexing with long-nosed nurses
sipping tragedy through straws,
“What brings you here at this hour, dear?”
Telescope eyes search posters, ‘Aid
for Relatives of Head Injury / Deceased’
swimming with memories of hard-boiled
lives embedded like shrapnel in wallpaper.
Polystyrene cups wreak of rancid coffee
and stain the shoes of perspective.
Years of celery caught between the teeth
of marriage find tears skeletons in a desert.
But this? Headline: wishing proves fatal.
Imminent death lingers like smoke
in a jazz club at four a.m.
Jazz at Four a.m. first appeared in Unlikely Stories sometime in 2003.
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Wow!
This is awesome writing Candy! It read like a improvised jazz solo – I could smell the smoky room! Fantastic.
Bobby Revells last blog post..Blogging Overload In The Internet Age
amazing..
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I have to agree with Bobby Revell’s assessment — like a sad sax solo in a roomful of smoke and tears.
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No kidding. What Jennifer said Bobby said. … “like a sad sax solo in a roomful of smoke and tears.”
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i especially liked the part about the bears
sometimes (no, often) your writing leaves me speechless. this is one of those times…
candy, that is incredible! so vivid!
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Ouch… well, that stings!
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[...] jazz at four a.m. by Candy of Inside Candy. This poem is so utterly great I cannot think of anything to say. You must read it for yourself. It is smoky and intoxicating. [...]