Sonnet XX: Karaoke on a Wednesday

She falls asleep in her drink, her head nods
Arrhythmic sway to music missing words
She mumbles something, her tongue beats the odds
Through cocktail straw, the lyrics drunken slurred 
Another woman wants to dance her turn
Around the silver pole that’s center stage
Too frail to mount the platform, days from her urn
Still belting Newton-John, transcending age
Despite the empty chairs, there’s warmth in here 
The barkeep calls upon singers by name
Everyone’s odd and most of us are queer 
All queens dressed like faded dreams of fame 
My voice isn’t mine when I sing my song
I’m young, dead sober, feels like I belong