All Jazzed Up at Bohannon's
by Darla McBryde

If she dies tonight
her smoky come hither
eyes will live on
never mind that Halloween has passed
and she is a still a walking mummy
we all drink from this well to throw
the black winged one off our path
death in the afternoon
life over sugar cubes
a stand up bass will do
something to lean on
when she gets a little tipsy
she sings “taxi taxi take me to the
St James Infirmary or
Methodist General
where ever when I go there they
have to let me in”
and burps an apology to "you know,
that poet", she says
she has forgotten his name.
she has cherries for her cheeks
and a twist for her hips
she says she don't need much
at the moment, she ain't misbehaving
but she can.

Illya's Honey Literary Journal

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