Friday Flash 55 — Last Call

The tuxedo t-shirt bar crew
yelled Last Call to the crowd
of hot grinding dancers
     and solitary pointstars.

Their club DJ sequed to his final song,
urging them all to find a spark,
a spark to ward off the lonely dark.

With his final notes pairing magic
pulsing in the air DJ sighed:
     “There, there.”

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My post written in exactly 55 words for Friday Flash 55. This is the last week that G-Man will serve as our Host here. It has been a great ride, G!
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"There is nothing like a barmaid," said the Dame

PORTRAIT OF A BARMAID
-by Dame Edith Sitwell

Metallic waves of people jar
Through crackling green toward the bar

Where on the tables chattering-white
The sharp drinks quarrel with the light.

Those coloured muslin blinds the smiles,
Shroud wooden faces in their wiles--

Sometimes they splash like water (you
Yourself reflected in their hue).

The conversation loud and bright
Seems spinal bars of shunting light

In firework-spurting greenery.
O complicate machinery

For building Babel, iron crane
Beneath your hair, that blue-ribbed mane

In noise and murder like the sea
Without its mutability!

Outside the bar where jangling heat
Seems out of tune and off the beat--

A concertina's glycerine
Exudes, and mirrors in the green

Your soul: pure glucose edged with hints
Of tentative and half-soiled tints.



(from Twentieth Century Harlequinade and other Poems, with Osbert Sitwell)

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