Songs at 4 am - a poem by Chris Zachariou

It's the twentieth of December.
The Jewish minstrel strummed
his chords at 4 am and nailed me
to the stave in every minor scale.

I drift around the freezing streets
searching for the stairway
back to us in Little Venice.
Lovers are mingling on the bridge
hold hands in bars and small cafés
and boats glisten on the water.

In your haste to be the Avant-Garde queen,
you denied me three times before the morning
each time growing more distant.

"There will never be another premiere,"
the master of ceremonies cries at noon.
Black limousines wait outside my door,
the red carpet is frayed and scarred,
and still, hiding behind the curtain
I yearn for a glimpse of your fragrant life.

The light is fading fast in Little Venice.
It's cold and dark, Christmas will be here
in five short days then a bleak endless winter.
Numb, I sit by the water scribbling muddled
verses about the jigsaw piece still missing.