The Bass Man and His Bass

William F. Claire

Into how many smoke-soaked gin drenched
back alley low ceilinged joints has he fiddled
his old lady, mother, mistress of blurred nights?
Tall, round, her skin a smoother sheen,
a ear open to a gentle, blowing caress-
now all of her fondled like a promiscuous date.
She sparkles as he whispers ardent words,
gives her a twirl as a warm-up session begins,
rising to a passion pitch as the spotlight dims:
Then makes love to her in earnest, shamelessly,
in full view of a breathless, panting crowd.

                                             Blues Alley
                                             Washington, D.C.


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