fool’s mate
skin-deep, midway, all the way
geared in violet
(very little violet)
her body made for Rebellion
legs pointed, arms precise
I sit
I sit and watch
in a dark backbar
stinging winter night
dirty dub on the cracked speakers
while guitar techs warm up
whomping, snicker-snack
slithy tones
she’s a superball
room pulsing, to and fro
she ricochets, twirls among
the fit,
the beautiful,
the weak,
ale hits the stale floor
my sixth whiskey
the thinking whiskey
a new realization, at this rate
the main act is running late
my greed is freed
I arise to bloody eyes
stiff leg forward
my last pilgrimage
tippling, toppling
she looms closer
my fears reappear
I brush them back and rush forward for my chance
on the dance floor
blue hair, green hair
pixelated and smeared
she is a trick
she is a trap
she is sweet valencia
her pith, endless summer
I remain, drunk and thirsty
among bootboy warriors,
iron eddies, and punk rudies
she zigs away from the stage
missteps on sticky floor
collides into me
secret knowledge is shared
the essence of something
the briefest of intimacies
I retreat
to the bar
very far from home
the band takes the stage
Artwork © TJ Edson
Jake Tringali: “Born in Boston. He has lived up and down the East Coast, then up and down the West Coast, now back in his home city. Runs rad restaurants. Thrives in a habitat of bars, punk rock shows, and a sprinkling of burlesque performers.”
TJ Edson is the Art Director of Oddball Magazine and a volunteer at the Out of The Blue Art Gallery. He has also had work appear recently in Boston Compass.
A poem hasn’t spoken to me like this in a long time – thank you!
Rock on, brother. I wrote this about the various encounters I’ve had at TT the Bears, the Midway Cafe, and the Middle East.