by John Davis
I’m in a rush to prove
the groove I give is holy
as a rose. Thin-drug this town
so grown-up, no more candy
afternoons, just a dull jazz.
Sirens slow as weak coffee
but me, I begin to spin.
****
John Davis is the author of Gigs, Guard the Dead and The Reservist. His work has appeared in DMQ Review, Iron Horse Literary Review and Terrain.org. He lives on an island in the Salish Sea and performs in several bands.