Wheels on the Chair

Packed private clubs
with their musical chairs
and their music playing
a smoked turkey at the door
simmering over the fire
trying to pay them off
breathes to move in the space
but breathes out laughter
drilling down a hole
touching raw nerves of the
crux of their matter

Packed private clubs
with their musical chairs
when the music stops
while they are
sitting on their chairs
getting licked by their partners
facing their directions
lighting up their conversation
to spark off their revolutions
the turkey lights up a fire
running around patterning
in and out of the circles
unable to stop playing
with wheels fiddling in the pocket
shown the closed face
of the door
waits for the chair in silence