Noir-ish

The freezer hums its lowest notes,
    the refrigerator too;
the furnace rumbles, hot air floats
    in over covers askew.

A failing neon bulb descants
    above the feral cats'
busy tenors, thumps, and pants,
    blinking 'Parts' then 'Pats'.

My keyboard's intermittent ticks,
    intimately slight,
add their small percussive licks
    in rhythm with the night.

It only needs a bluesy love
    song on a saxophone
to blend in with the memories of
    last night's delicious moan.

Besottedly I hum and blow
    and buzz and wah and coo
through every love song that I know
    in love, in love, with you.

Marcus Bales

If you have any comments on this poem, Marcus Bales  would be pleased to hear from you.