ground floor dwelling without a first or second,
warm in spring and even warmer in winter,
grab the hand of her and buy a drink because-
- the shy shouldered girl draped in black
is about to sing, but from the back
her thin thighs are stubborn
covered-up in cloth-polyester, hiding all fantasies of fun.
She takes her shoes off for the show,
the guitarist, and fifty-percent of her makeup, glows in the light,
tonight there's a crowd, a real bunch of loud
drinkers drinking up the fridges.
Let me see where your vocals come from,
deep within the chasm of your acid marquee.
The singer's eyes hide under hair,
with firm fixed eyelids of a winter bound and dark hare,
visions of the hunted trying to hunt,
keep quiet, the dogs are there.
Tim Knight is a student and self published poet, based in Cambridge, UK. He has three collections of work out and is also the founder of Coffee Shop Poems, a poetry blog.
He makes the private world public and does so with, preferably, a cup coffee in hand.