The Singer

She looked tired and had gained weight.
Bad stage lighting highlighted the bags
under her eyes, her fleshy upper arms.
She carefully removed her black patent
party shoes, looking under the keyboard
to locate the foot pedal.
She looked at the few of us
sprinkled across several tables,
her fingers struck a minor chord,
her voice a smoky blue.
We were all waiting for her lover
one rainy night in Paris.