Nogitsune II

A melancholy melody
interrupts the mindless chatter,
cutlery clatter,
crash,
as light bulbs pop,
overhead
where ah’s and ooh’s evaporate,
enveloped in violin's wail
somewhere on stage.

A lone piano bawls and moans
with the sympathetic tapping
of a snare drum that
throbs
like the small feet,
swollen,
of the petit maître d', ‘dear’,
who scurries with candles that drip
hot-white wax tears.

Sakura tables light up, chestnut-brown
grotesque faces sway in orange hues,
clink-clink, “Here’s to health!”
whispers,
foggy eyes stare
into the gloom where street lights creep
through
backstage air vents that gives life;
stage shadow sways.

A few wooden geta sandals pick up the beat
that oscillates wildly between
anxiety and glee,
until
the spotlight shines,
illuminating kimono,
sleeves
long and red, dripping with colour,
cherry sorrow.