taverna trema
Posted: March 27th, 2008, 9:45 am
My world was shrinking like a cheap shirt,
pinching my armpits, delineating
every flaw in my aging physique,
any reflective surface became
the harshest of critics, a malevolent
and unforgiving Svengali, that compelled
my furtive sidelong glances
in an endless and repetitive self-torture
that was wearing me out, debilitating
my resolve and self-confidence.
I needed a drink, actually
I needed two drinks, and more besides.
The night opened up like a cheap umbrella,
its ribs buckling in an unpredictable manner,
streets, once familiar
had taken on a foreign complexion,
a casbah of narrowing conduits
meandering in a bewildering complexity
of alleys, dimly lit arches, and porticos.
I passed through the street of gypsies
as the disturbingly, widened eyes of children
followed me into the Turkish quarter.
I walked with stealth... I kept to the shadows
as faint strains of exotic music
guided me onward through the night.
The doors of the Taverna Trema opened
like the legs of a cheap prostitute
promising adventure and excitement -
reasonably priced.
I ordered a double Metaxa and
savored it sensuously, swishing
it about in my mouth, to drop
like a cherry bomb exploding in my guts.
The Bouzouki Boys were tuning up
as Ermine "the darling of Smyrna"
sauntered up to the stage.
She grabbed the mike, her eyes
rolled back into her head, as if possessed
by the seven demons of hoary breasted Astarte.
She sang a song of Wednesday
that unluckiest of days, the day
of orphans and widows
when love knocked her for a loop,
tripping her up
like a cheap rug on an overly waxed floor.
Oh, how can I describe it to you
faceless reader thou?
What words could possibly portray
the subtle nuances of mood,
the sweep and scope of her passion?
The sultry sway of her milky white shoulders
held me under their hypnotic power
like a cobra under Hindustani influence,
or, perhaps
like a bigtop bellhop circus monkey
clamoring for stale peanuts
(as witnesses surely will attest.)
It was then that the Bouzouki Boys hit their stride,
rhythms that were locked within my soul
burst forth like a cork propelled
by the gassy effervescence
of a bottle of cheap asti.
I loosened my tie, I rolled up my sleeves,
I downed another double, and flung
the glass like a thunderbolt, to shatter
into a shower of diamonds that crunched
beneath my feet, like
a taxicab flattened by Godzilla.
(It is here at this precise moment
that words reveal themselves
in their tawdry insufficience, their
clumsy and top-heavy torpidity,
truncated and catalectic
like a Hershey Kiss whittled into a Chunky.)
The thin veneer of five thousand years of civilization
evaporated in the hellfire of pyroclastic desires
that exploded like a walnut in a microwave,
a swirling maelstrom of flailing arms
and roundhouse savate
punctuated one of the Bouzouki Boys
who was draped over the bar
like a bandoleon on a clothesline.
I watched from under a table
while Ermine "the darling of Smyrna"
howled with Turkish delight
as she was swept into the fracas
like a chicken wing in a seagull foodfight.
I paid for my drinks and went home
pinching my armpits, delineating
every flaw in my aging physique,
any reflective surface became
the harshest of critics, a malevolent
and unforgiving Svengali, that compelled
my furtive sidelong glances
in an endless and repetitive self-torture
that was wearing me out, debilitating
my resolve and self-confidence.
I needed a drink, actually
I needed two drinks, and more besides.
The night opened up like a cheap umbrella,
its ribs buckling in an unpredictable manner,
streets, once familiar
had taken on a foreign complexion,
a casbah of narrowing conduits
meandering in a bewildering complexity
of alleys, dimly lit arches, and porticos.
I passed through the street of gypsies
as the disturbingly, widened eyes of children
followed me into the Turkish quarter.
I walked with stealth... I kept to the shadows
as faint strains of exotic music
guided me onward through the night.
The doors of the Taverna Trema opened
like the legs of a cheap prostitute
promising adventure and excitement -
reasonably priced.
I ordered a double Metaxa and
savored it sensuously, swishing
it about in my mouth, to drop
like a cherry bomb exploding in my guts.
The Bouzouki Boys were tuning up
as Ermine "the darling of Smyrna"
sauntered up to the stage.
She grabbed the mike, her eyes
rolled back into her head, as if possessed
by the seven demons of hoary breasted Astarte.
She sang a song of Wednesday
that unluckiest of days, the day
of orphans and widows
when love knocked her for a loop,
tripping her up
like a cheap rug on an overly waxed floor.
Oh, how can I describe it to you
faceless reader thou?
What words could possibly portray
the subtle nuances of mood,
the sweep and scope of her passion?
The sultry sway of her milky white shoulders
held me under their hypnotic power
like a cobra under Hindustani influence,
or, perhaps
like a bigtop bellhop circus monkey
clamoring for stale peanuts
(as witnesses surely will attest.)
It was then that the Bouzouki Boys hit their stride,
rhythms that were locked within my soul
burst forth like a cork propelled
by the gassy effervescence
of a bottle of cheap asti.
I loosened my tie, I rolled up my sleeves,
I downed another double, and flung
the glass like a thunderbolt, to shatter
into a shower of diamonds that crunched
beneath my feet, like
a taxicab flattened by Godzilla.
(It is here at this precise moment
that words reveal themselves
in their tawdry insufficience, their
clumsy and top-heavy torpidity,
truncated and catalectic
like a Hershey Kiss whittled into a Chunky.)
The thin veneer of five thousand years of civilization
evaporated in the hellfire of pyroclastic desires
that exploded like a walnut in a microwave,
a swirling maelstrom of flailing arms
and roundhouse savate
punctuated one of the Bouzouki Boys
who was draped over the bar
like a bandoleon on a clothesline.
I watched from under a table
while Ermine "the darling of Smyrna"
howled with Turkish delight
as she was swept into the fracas
like a chicken wing in a seagull foodfight.
I paid for my drinks and went home
