Karaoke

[Wjames]

Drinking songs wobble the spleen
in frog-hopping conga lines
at night with a tortoise
on the mic.

Black tooth odour penetrates the underground
legion, mothers gyrate in low cut tops
around the support beam, chanting a dirge
and craving a bull fight with a matador's bulge
strobing red cloth and horn.

When the first sad song hits:
white snow silence.