beneath Napoleon's hatthe sober pianist
slaughters our requests
Gershwin dies again and again
as his fingers stab the ivories to death
but it is "Summertime"
that finally steers even the barmen to drink
a swaying figure at the bar
lists gently as the boat drunkenly rolls
his foot taps between the missed beats
whilst his hands cling desperately to
his wrecked sobriety
he looks at the ice in his glass
as if it was a Gypsy's crystal ball
searching for the title to the tune
that eludes him
a tune he wants to request
a tune that will die without mercy
as for me
I sit quietly in the corner
praying for icebergs
(On a ferry to France watching a pianist, who was wearing Napoleon's hat, entertain a drunk)
