Friday, February 20, 2004
At His Own Throat
The tavern’s patrons blend with the walls
painted full with smiles and sharp teeth,
the same song coming from everyone’s eyes—
no ears or noses, torsos or legs,
just a school of smiles with teeth,
swimming through the same song.
Nab and I get out of there pretty quick.
Next door it’s packed so chest-to-chest
we can feel everyone
breath in their drinks:
Nab says a martini olive’s slipped
into his belly button; he gulps—
Carmody climbs onstage,
and everyone starts dancing to
the mood they’ve seen in movies.
Carmody hides behind the microphone,
staring at himself in the reflection
of his resonant guitar, his image
glancing off the polish of the floor,
creating a ring that surrounds
us all: Carmody after Carmody waves
hand after hand at guitar after guitar
bouncing of the floor inside the floor.
The crowd out-dances itself with
Carmody locked in his own staredown:
“He a vampire after his own throat,”
Nab whispers in my ear, but
all I can hear is the swish of his
whiskey splash against my ribs.
painted full with smiles and sharp teeth,
the same song coming from everyone’s eyes—
no ears or noses, torsos or legs,
just a school of smiles with teeth,
swimming through the same song.
Nab and I get out of there pretty quick.
Next door it’s packed so chest-to-chest
we can feel everyone
breath in their drinks:
Nab says a martini olive’s slipped
into his belly button; he gulps—
Carmody climbs onstage,
and everyone starts dancing to
the mood they’ve seen in movies.
Carmody hides behind the microphone,
staring at himself in the reflection
of his resonant guitar, his image
glancing off the polish of the floor,
creating a ring that surrounds
us all: Carmody after Carmody waves
hand after hand at guitar after guitar
bouncing of the floor inside the floor.
The crowd out-dances itself with
Carmody locked in his own staredown:
“He a vampire after his own throat,”
Nab whispers in my ear, but
all I can hear is the swish of his
whiskey splash against my ribs.
