Sunday, July 29, 2018

Jazz Club. by Ann Christine Tabaka

The lights dim
a horn wails
smoke and whiskey    fill the room

A voice like silk
    from some long past era
hearts mellow
    tears spill

Bodies sway
    fingers snap
Feet     s h u f f l e
across the floor

Hushed voice        conversations
    glasses clink
        toes tap

Drunk on
a slice of heaven    on a paper plate

High notes - low bows
    the jazzman walks off
        claps and whistles follow
            the lights rise

Ann Christine Tabaka has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize in Poetry, has been internationally published, and won poetry awards from publications. She lives in Delaware, USA.  She loves gardening and cooking.  Chris lives with her husband and two cats. Her most recent credits are: Ariel Chart, Page & Spine, West Texas Literary Review, Oddball Magazine, The Paragon Journal, The Literary Hatchet, The Stray Branch, Trigger Fish Critical Review, Foliate Oak Review, Better Than Starbucks!, Anapest Journal, Mused, Apricity Magazine, The Write Launch, The Stray Branch, Scryptic Magazine, Ann Arbor Review, The McKinley Review.

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