Someone whispered on a fiddle,

a siren blew that hung and stretched

out long notes, slung slow rope

around my baby’s neck.

Man came with tape and pencil,

cut him and coloured him grey,

cast a net and like a marionette -

pull on a string and he sway.

My man look sorry

now he nobody

these melancholy days.

 

An agent of the devil,

Jezebel in disguise

fixed manacles to ankles

and blindfolded his eyes.

He suffocate and strangle –

I miss the jazz and jive –

but some sorcery is forcing me

to watch his suicide.

My man stop swinging,

don’t hear him singing

these melancholy times.