“Blonde in the Mouth” - a poem.
ANNA PANCALDI, 14/10/15, Bath
After my aching journey from an hour south
I was in ill spirits when I stepped inside the wale’s mouth.
What’s this?
Red walls, black floor,
Little stools, no door.
I spread my palms ready for vibes to be collected,
But by the coming joys I had not yet been infected.
What’s this?
Red rugs, black shirts,
Open hugs, no hurts.
The room darkened and my mood brightened,
Amongst these cultured folk I was not frightened!
We conversed softly about how The Beatles were,
In fact,
A rather experimental band, and,
Tipping her hat,
The lady at the bar’s eyes twinkled and tightened
In a smile that oozed a warmth so free
That I could not help but take the liberty
Of claiming it and wrapping it about my icy frame,
Even though, admittedly, it was not mine to claim.
Anna, that was her name,
With Sheryl Crow-esque mane,
In fedora, black coat, black jeans,
Just as lovely as she seemed.
And do you know – she was a singer!
Oh, how she sung!
God had greatly blessed her in throat and lung.
Her voice gave me no choice
But to sedate my ills and elate the spills
Of good cheer,
And good beer,
Albeit the beer of others, clasped absently in hand,
By friends, mothers, and members of the band.
And, reader, if your eyes are thus far unsore,
Let me tell you just a little more:
Tucked up there in my seat I was compelled to eat,
But dear Anna, as her sounds began, my morsels became suspended
And there they remained until her art had fully ended.
How could I possibly consume food, beauty, noise
All at once?
I tell you, it would be like kissing three boys
All at once.
No, it is proper to respect what is precious and true,
To discern it, behold it, and then
To say thank you.
For her last song, our Anna cast aside the microphone
And stepped down to the spectator’s zone.
It was there I experienced that thing we all crave:
In that wale’s mouth, that pub’s dark cave,
I felt, with no blemish of doubt, utterly accepted,
Bound up in music, protected.
I reclined content, trusted by my new friends,
All with different lives, different ends,
But inside those songs we were rendered unified,
One people,
(And I watched as rejection withered and died)
One people,
Breathing, listening – alive.
© AUDIO SCRAWL // emilysafe
