1920's Prostitutes Eyeing Yesterday (Provocatively)

Yesterday the people screamed
at their idols who stand ten miles high,
and our ribs did show
as prominent mountains on the landscapes of America.

We all expelled regretful sighs,
bleeding out like a gunshot victim
counting the tics and tocs on his wristwatch.

Martinis drained down speakeasy throats.

Smoke, a grey ghost,
was hanged for whispering curses
to bebop legends,
whispering their own impromptu jazz bursts.