William August Kobs


El Gallo (The Club) - Poem by William August Kobs

Down a darkened alley you walk
Past doors that do not talk,
Behind each door is a different room
Within each room is a tic or a boom.
The beat of a different drummer,
Or the riff of a guitar strummer,
Or the sound of a hot, jazzy lick
From a trumpet all shiny and slick.

The tables and chairs are aligned
In a scheme to minimize the time
It takes you to reach the stage
And get worked up into a rage.
As the band begins to play
The crowd begins to sway,
And when the sax begins to blow
The crowd shouts, Go Daddy Go!

All at once the room seems to spin,
Magic crystals make colors that blend
Into patterns that bounce off the wall,
With images that lead you down a hall.
To a place where incense fills the air
And people with piercing, green hair
Lurk in the shadows or lounge on rugs,
While doing the latest designer drugs.

And the neon lights that burn
From every club as you turn
The corner onto the street
Not knowing who you will meet,
Keep flashing well after dawn
Like the eyes of some unknown spawn,
Which chases you into the park
As you seek to escape the dark.

Then you stop to catch your breath,
Feeling as if you've cheated death,
And the apprehension fills you with dread
As rhythms keep playing inside your head.
Suddenly you find yourself back in line
In front of a door on which hangs a sign.
Abruptly the door open and inside your whisked,
Never noticing the words, Enter At Your Own Risk!

Copyright 2001 William August Kobs. All rights reserved.


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Read poems about / on: guitar, august, magic, hair, green, people, dark, death, work



Poem Submitted: Saturday, January 4, 2003



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