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P.J. Nights

in the wee hours

you blow jive lingo, rattle paper shades
between us Ďtil they snap! let in the light
and curtains shimmy lace in a Lindy hop
a jazz-riff zephyr wafts your word, invades
my sweet peach like a hot mosquito bite
Iíve got to scratch -- my headís a spinning top
though I ainít had my coffee yet, but those
are sly high ways you wind me up so tight
I call you up Ďcause I canít wait    be-bop
    meet me in five at Uncle Joeís
Truck Stop

the mock turtleís tears for lobster quadrilles

when Montserrat simmered
on the edge of noonís blue heat

fishermen would sound a tantara of conchs
to tout fresh turtle meat

later in the evening Iíd dice cool
christophene, mash da green banana

split open passion
fruit - sieve pip from pulp

for a tall glass of squash
to toast turtle braised in brandy

on the back stoop, Jumbie
Osgood cat-crunched beetles

in time to my kitchen calypso
and we both danced unaware

of Soufriere smoking its pipe
on the turtle-back of this Emerald Isle

©2003 by P.J. Nights

P.J. Nights lives in coastal Maine and teaches physics and astronomy. Her poetry has been published on Web sites such as ERWA, MiPo, the Green Tricycle, Mind Caviar, Clean Sheets and Lingerings, and in print in Penumbra, Slow Trains Volume I, and Artemis. She more of her work at her Web site.

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