Wartime Nocturne Poem by Kathy Greethurst

After Claude Francis Barry

The glitter ball spins
silver stars around the dream theatre.
Spotlights search out
excited eyes and secret winks.

A Chicago trumpet
blasts eight to the bar.
Shop girls get in the mood.
GI's grab them,
throw them eagerly
around the dance floor.

Legs swing, arms fling,
as they jitterbug and boogie,
silver stars and dreams,
in the latest rude woogie
from America's Bugle Boy.

Until the glitter ball stops
and the show ends on the prom
with a smoke and a smooch -
and a promise to meet again.

***

Searchlights sweep the grey-black sky,
illuminate Tower Bridge in Hollywood movie glitz.

A siren interrupts the light show, signals an air raid,
sends a resigned crowd hurrying downstairs.
The people spill onto the platforms, everyone
primed to finding their own person-sized space.

Clothed bodies settle down in makeshift beds.
A woman smooths Pond's cold cream over her face
while her husband runs a book on which street
Jerry will annihilate tonight.

At midnight, the trains stop, and it's lights out.
A brave few risk the power-off
and kip on the tracks. Not a word said about Balham
and sixty-four dead, the station on top a direct hit.