Desolation Be-Bop

illustration by WLM3 from sampled images: Wallhaven, Roy Eldridge Got His Finest Chord by Loal Lonli, and Street Dance by Pedro Alvarez

 

Swing, swang, cut the rug, sweetie pie,

swirl, smirking as you spin,

your skirt defying gravity,

spinning like a top tilting

after three too many

Singapore slings.

 

Step up the syncopation.

Manhandle that trumpet, Roy.

Shriek a long drawn-out high C.

Shatter glasses, dislodge the earwax of

the bald-domed ogling codger

sitting in the corner sipping.

 

Stop clock, your tick-tocking.

Let the night remain forever young.

Allow no morning Sabbath sunbeam to stab

dyspeptic these jitter-bugging beboppers.

In the name of Bacchus, don’t ever stop,

but keep keeping the beat, let the sweat drops drip.

 

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