It makes me sad to see Gloria Swanson
sitting alone in the Royal Hawaiian lounge
think I'll go bow low over her hand
just to see her laugh prettily, then
might ask a spectral waiter
to bring Miss Swanson a pink gin
and tell the orchestra leader
his baton’s not moving fast enough!
hot jazz is what we need right now
‘fact, let’s all have another round
be good to laugh a little too loudly
without something aching inside.
Trish Saunders lives in Seattle. She has poems and short fiction
published or forthcoming in Chiron Review, Main Street Rag, Gargoyle, the late lamented Fat Damsel Review, and here in the Rye Whiskey Review.
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