All that jazz and smoke
Makes it seem like
Some jazz joint and Lou
Lounging in his large
Armchair, and sour
Liz standing by the
Door, taking it all
In, watching him with
His eyes closed, his black
Haired head nodding to
Some hot cat blowing
Some horn, and she knows
He’ll not move or make
Efforts to find work
Or do chores, but down
A beer and jeer at
The next soloist
Especially if
It’s some black guy (white
Jazz is his scene) and
She shakes her head, breathes
Deep, curses under
Her breath, wants to see
Him gone, wants him to
Get out of there, go
Elsewhere or wishes
Deeply for his dark
Unsuspected, but
Oh so welcome death.
Adding your comment: