They call her the dive lounge diva
Her bright red lipstick is a bit garish
It bleeds into the fine lines around her mouth where she sucks
in the cigarette smoke
Her brassy blonde hair is a bit unnatural
Some would call her tight, faded dress
tacky
but she feels glamorous
especially after her third drink
She holds court with her admirers:
cabbies waiting for a fare
alchoholics
unemployed
the ranks of losers and misfits
who feel more at home in dives
than at home (if they have a home, that is)
The dive lounge diva used to be famous
She used to sing sold out shows
Sign autographs
Date dashing gentlemen
who wore carnations in their lapels
Hang about with the high lifes
the dilettantes
She had great legs
The dive lounge diva
watches a shell-shocked vet drop
a coin into the jukebox
She bets she could still belt out a tune
if anyone ever asked.
13 comments:
An excellent poem, and quite moving...
man, sad bit...makes me think of those that once had the spot light but for whatever reason have passed their prime and are left wondering what is next and never really moving on...
The dive lounge diva, what a spin from that red chair. I like that you repeat that phrase at the onset of the last two stanzas...something about it helps bring to bear her faded glory circumstances. Like this a lot.
Love the imagery in this. Just wonderful
Like this. It has a sadness about it without, somehow, being ultimately sad.
Wow, this was a great little movie. I loved the details and the obvious compassion you have for her. Excellent.
nicely written....thanks for this
Very noir...excellent...
That chair looks exactly like a diva lounge diva! LOL
Deep and reflective. You certainly gave that fallen idol feel to her!
Still proud in her own way. Lost in a dream of yesterday.
...* Dang. That kind of worked.
Without a doubt.
Diva Lounge Diva, pining for yesteryear! I feel a little sad for her. Well done!
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