Standing on the
Shoulders of Giants
Jazz
tempo piano and a bluesy guitar,
It’s
2 a.m. in Goliath’s Bar
Where
Lorna sips gin through a long, curly straw
As
she sits and waits, one eye on the door.
Steve
said he’d be along to see her set
But
he’d promised before – never made it yet.
Minutes
away from her spot with the band,
She
leans a bit further back on her seat,
And
her red stiletto taps out the beat.
Lorna’s
laughing and swaying, about to begin,
Adrenaline
rush or too much pink gin?
She’s
out of her mind, but not really crazy,
Her
vision’s gone soft focus, smoky and hazy.
Tight
black dress, short, strapless and low;
Only
put on for this kind of a show.
This
was a time for freedom and defiance
Where
she’s happy to stand on these shoulders of giants.
She
clutches the mic stand, there’s a hint of a smile
Then
she bangs out a song in her Joplin-esque style.
Heat
and smoke hit hard on her throat
But
she stays on key and finds the right note.
