Monday, August 9, 2010

Miserable Jazz

Miserable Jazz

They were women after all,
long haired women that lined the floors,
dressed in baby blue
with hands of midnight and
ears flowing out with liquid madrigals.

I stepped carefully around them,
afloat their miserable jazz,
around their inflamed heads,
attempting to avoid their contamination.

I skipped rope over their cords of whipping hair,
as bowls came smashing the floor
of that overpriced galaxy,
the hushed songs of their voices
ruined by my big sway.

I managed to escape the circumference
of their daunting egos.

Their movements quieted to just the tapping
of their feet mixing with a strange jig.

The sounds they made swirled alive,
a mass hypnotic pink and peach and red
dashing the air
dancing the edges of their
skirts! Skirts! Skirts!



April Michelle Bratten is a writer currently living in North Dakota.  She is the co-editor of the online literary journal Up the Staircase (www.upthestaircase.org). 

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