The rotten upholstery,

Flat notes of chartreuse,

Notes of the plague,

Sharp notes of abuse,

Voicing it’s age…

Bodies in seats,

Bodies with pleats,

at the lips, and the thighs,

the corners of their eyes,

and the corner of a magazine page…

There’s a woman in white, half hiding her plight, 

The cigarette scar at the crossroads,

Of some stretchmark’s, and one bad night,

The gentlemen in the corner with the freemason ring,

Softly coaxing the telephone to ring, 

The mumbled melody thinned, “hey batter, batter…swing”

In view of a man with a tattooed neck,

Of a scripture, with a picture of a big shipwreck,

and me in a cardigan with yellow complexion,

and they’re all there staring in my direction,

(Why are you here?), asking quietly as they may, 

And we’ll shrink,

And we’ll shrink,

And we’ll all fade away.