In the Cool Jazz Basement

In the Cool Jazz Basement

It was past midnight, 
the wine was crawling out of the bottle and looking for fun.

Outside,
the streetlamps were taking selfies just to have something to do,
and the drains grinned a metal smile and bore the rain.

Over on Smith Street,
where the cars were ‘lowing’ and stretched out on the side of the road, inmates of a swaying off licence were leaving comments on private thoughts and blogging their daydreams in their digital imaginations.

The town was quiet, 
a riot of introspective footsteps stepping through the rain of hopeless austerity with their neon-lit dreams of finding a side-alley to fulfillment.

In the cool jazz basement,where the lights were discrete, 
her voice rose over the rooftops and sent goosebumps down the chimney pots. 

The slim, long-haired beauty made slaves of their ears and eyes and the microphone trembled in her hand. 

Back home, where the moon purred on the bed and clawed the duvet, she unzipped and slid into love with him. Her moans set off security alarms on the sidewalks of a distant town where sex was only allowed by showing passports. 

Her soul was an ancient city full of learning, culture and wisdom that stretched across the valley and she loved like a universe with hot suns on her tail.

Outside the town hall citizens grappled with true meaning and were rounded up as examples but her voice hit the notes of hope and circled across the town. Her ample breasts and silky skin caused the dawning sky to blush with sun.

Soon the yawning cars would welcome their humans and drive off across the bridge of human duty. 

She folded her lovemaking away and put on a serious face to face the day. 

Driving into the everyday town where decency had been driven out, she longed for the days when humanity would care again.

Stopping off in a slow harbour town for coffee and laptop communications, she saved this draft in Word and set about her work.

Text by Trev Teasdel