Night out

by Michael Holme

“Easy living” on piano seduces in the soundscape
with the drummer’s brushes pushing.
They beckon abundant filigrees
floating in the air.

People guard whiskey,
and gin chaser collections.
Alongside hedgehog ashtrays
doused in tar.

His thigh feels taps of the bassist crotchets,
at an andante tic-toc speed.

He could kill to hear Piaf in the mix,
regardless of his lack of French.
Any sultry singing would do though,
the cream on this audio mocha.

In the downstairs toilet a message reads,
“Anyone dealing in drugs
will be barred and reported to the police.”
At twenty steps down, heels are sirens.
How it works is anyone’s guess.

The light down here shocks his pupils,
and the purity of the air revitalises.
He’s an easel relieving himself, forearm on wall.
Then he crouches to forcibly throw.
This is what he calls a night out, alone.