Glissando

Glissando

An arpeggio of angelic tones rouses me from a bourbon induced stupor and plays hopscotch
Across the corners of my heart as I adjust my posture against the back of the corner booth.
The barrenness of my soul had matched the now empty shot glass only seconds ago, but
A slight idiosyncrasy in my thought pattern ignites something unnameable in my core.
From my vantage point, I cannot discern who sits behind the piano; I check my reflection
In the window behind me, hoping that I do not portray the bedlamite that stares back at me.
It is without consequence now, and I smooth my hair in a feeble attempt to right myself
Before maneuvering around the scuffed edges of the table and into a more vertical position.
The earlier prevarication with my own demons tempered by three doses of well aged courage,
Has left me in a state twice removed from sobriety; I fear the pending failure of my legs.
The melody plays a contrasting soundtrack to my advance from the rear of the bar, and each
Masterfully rendered note lures me forward with a mixture of seduction and encouragement.
Timidly I retrieve a folded bill from my clutch and reach towards the tip jar only to miscue
And set it to wobbling in a mocking dance as it descends in slow motion to the tile below.
The shattering of glass and the coin lodged in my shoe make an attempt to incite shame, but
Their showing is upstaged by the dark haired stranger who has temporarily abandoned his keys.

Copyright 2017 Tina Jordan All Rights Reserved

Image public domain via Pixabay

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