The grim fandango

Here we stride
Donning shiny spats
To the tune of a million
Art-deco nuances
Humming sophisticated jazz
Cool tunes
Bony band in the corner
(one of many
this city boasts, with
arches and tall lines
slithering up
or maybe down
the walls)
As we make our way
Into the casino
The gentleman's showground
We are all peacocks
We are all peepholes
To peahens
But the peahens don't look
Dull, oh no, sings the jitterbug
As she dances into
The night, with
Life running through her hair,
Melting moustachioed men
And their cigarette holders.
Lit by distant lighthouse
Illuminating our glitz
Our
Cool jazz tunes
Lounge jazz tunes
Down by the harbour.
We are the kings
The new kings
Because in the old world
We were Picasso faces
Grimaces of caged freak-show nobodies
Straining for our only hope,
Our only ticket to this
Cool jazz city
This cool jazz cocktail
By lapping moonlit ocean and cruiseliners
Where the sign in the tunnel reads
"You are now entering
The Land of the Dead"