Soul Food.....

Friday couldn't have come quick enough, the clocks, the calendar, working in tandem, holding the promised day hostage at the end of their broken pendulum. "Not yet" the nights whispered to me. "Not today" the morning crooned.....And then she was here. Friday's are for dancin'......

And I couldn't soak it up fast enough, breathe it in deep enough, the music, the salty smell of strangers and friends elbow to elbow....the dark courtliness of the walls, smoke stained and autographed, another day older. My barstool casually parked on her tip toes, waiting....a yellow yard dog behind the picket fence.....

Finally, the clock slowing, counted out in rhythmatic noise, in the wave of arms, legs, hips.....the sandy sound of softshoes on the dancefloor, the clinkity tink of bottles on the bartop, silverware clanking in a tincan diner....

He drums.
Bangs the heart.
Slams
the song into
sign language,
lost language,
close~your~eyes language.

He growls.
Spits the words out,
drags them through the house,
steak bones for a stud,
a rabid rat,
a hungry cat....
He drums.....
And in the shadows,
the secrets they'll never tell,
he's
the
fix....
the accidental addiction...
the story
with the
hand~me~down ending....

He drums....
And I'm listening....