...........
Peggy Lee (May 26, 1920 – January 21,
2002)
Eyes can be beautiful. So gay and
young. Peggy’s step-mother had eyes. As black
as coal. As hard as iron. The back of
her hand. Across Peggy's cheeks. Don’t think
your daddy is going to save you now.
Peggy sang for her meals. In small
joints. With fast cooks. And red necks. And the
chorus of bacon and burning violins.
Peggy joined the dreamers. Dancing into
heartache. To the City of Angels. Where
children were begging to be born.
300 Dutch ice cream salesmen protested.
The shortage of appetite. While their
wives organized their socks. And ironed
their shirts. And while the salesmen
marched on the parliament. Shoes were
left at the doorstep. Curtains closed in
haste. And Peggy sang about the
neighbourhood boys. Who risked their lives.
To appease. The appetite of salesmen’s
wives.
An airplane crashed into the Empire
State Building. The pilot begged the mayor.
It was an accident. And 1942. No one
doubted that he was telling the truth. Until
they found his plans. And sweet Peggy
almost died. A fall in a New York hotel.
She was tripped. At the top of a set of
stairs. By a man with no legs. He leaked
a secret. Don’t be in such a rush.
Peggy sang. Quietly. Her voice
simmered. Everyone leaned. Forward. The waiters
hesitated to wait. No one dared slam a
door. In the kitchen. Or in the parking lot.
In the hotel rooms. Lovers held their
breath. If silence were a dance. Singing was
a substitute for love.
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