Drinking champagne, & listening
to Coltrane, & mixing with names
some of whom lay claim to know me
way back when & who I have no
knowledge of. The dog is my only
familiar. It bit me earlier today.
I have a faint curvature of bruising
on the bulb where my thumb grows
from. No incision. But the names
try to leave marks. I did not know
them then. I have just met them now.
The ones who dance with me are the
only ones I have any claim upon, the
only ones I let lay any claim on me.
This poem knows how to have a good time. God bless Coltrane and champagne and dogs and dropping names (and by dropping I mean forgetting).
– K. Jones