Old Jazz, like…
Put on your records, babe,
Let’s
Do the foxtrot, but take it slow,
Let’s… swing it.
I’m slipping into your favorite dress,
And between the two of us,
We’ve got pinstripes and pin curls,
And baby, we’re at the speakeasy tonight.

Or maybe it’s
Old Jazz, like
Baby, I’m cookin’ dinner,
I’m cool,
Singin’ doo-wop in the kitchen.
Babe, we ain’t been dancin’ in weeks
But hey, you said it could happen tonight.
You stumble in, drop your hat,
Retreat into the den.
…the doo-wop turns to discord:
You’re slappin’ out chords on your piano,
But they ain’t makin’ sense.
And sweetie, when I went to lay that dress out,
It wasn’t there. You’d traded it for booze.
You tore your pinstripes walkin’ home,
And another bird’s pin curls are lookin’ better.

Yeah, honey, that’s it.
It’s
Old Jazz, it’s us, it’s something like
You drive a reality steamroller
And it crushed my little nostalgia cigarette.

Old Jazz, like
Damn, baby,
This ain’t right.

-

Inspired by the photograph, "Old Jazz," by *girltripped on DeviantART. Written 17 Feb 2009 as part of Thing-a-Day 2009.