The Sex of Sax

Flamenco riffs
and the sex of sax
evaporate off dancers
drunk on volume
hips make love to harmonies
enviously ogled by Guinnesses
in the shadow of flat-brimmed hats
while wood block keeps the beat
the prayers depress against glass
downing draughts fresh from the tap
while lovers old and new
handshake eager glances
in sweaty anticipations
funk swaggers in
knowing it attracts
every belt buckle to join
leave your skinny ties at the door
and spin a stranger
beneath low lights
absorbing the aroma of saucy Merlot
a Cabernet who talks too much
a dirty martini
who’s talked of leave town for years
black leather bedecked paisanos
sweep young ladies to the floor
recollecting the world’s wayward memories
of a time before world wars
when Sicilian and Genovese clubs
brought forth fast-moving feet
into a new incarnation
of hippies born too late to know this
Español flows wine-soaked from an Anglo’s lips
and all the while,
the sax wails its sex lamentations
and old men serve attention without intention
as they wish they could do in younger days