Your Song is My Song
It’s a wrap at the Chinatown
shindig – they’re painting stars
above Beaumont Highway tonight
with high-viz neon sparks.
It’s all light frou-frous
with laughing gas & smoke,
embroidering the black shroud
with on the fly calligraphy.
Between narrow slits
of a wooden shack,
a lambs eye is squinting
through celestial vapours.
Stupefied by black tar
and brandy, a man is rocking
back on his heels, singing
Taishan Blues to the moon.
©️ Orion Foote
Visions of Orion Poetry 