Jay Surdukowski

The fat girl carries a fat case,
some instrument, maybe a bassoon?

Snow dalmatians the black ground
as she smiles sweetly on her way to rehearse.
The symphony is her life because the boys
have seen only the air around her.

She wears her Elvira blacks,
greases her lips in the dark red,
clacks on sharp heels, straddles the stage
where she makes a kind of love.

She looks back, blizzard fog, flick of teeth,
what is that in the angle of her smile?
Perhaps her velvet-lined case
holds a machine gun to fill up your chest.

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